The Ragnarók War — Myths
by aylithe
Summary: Retellings of twenty-five of the Norse Myths, starting with Loki and Odin's meeting to the End of All Days, Ragnarók, in a prose style. In first draft status.
1. Prologue — Daemon

**'Ello, and welcome. So, my name's aylithe (capitalise the 'A' and I won't be happy; such typos do not befall the greatness that is me) and this is my current project, which is backstory for my biggest project, ****_The Ragnarók War_****, which is an original so has no place here D:**

**Updates will be few and far between, and I apologise. Each 'chapter' is quite long, so much so a majority of them will be separated into two parts; honestly, some of these things clock in at +20,000 words. I have the right to take into my hands certain things that don't appear in the sources we have for the mythology, like how Odin and Loki met, how Loki and Sigyn met, etc. Some other changes/improvised bits are small, like which order were Fárbauti and Laufey's children born in (here, it's Býleistr, Loki and then Helblindi; I just love the idea of Loki being the little snot of a middle child), to big things, like changing Loki's heritage to half-giant half-human. Spellings as well will be to my pleasing, such as the spelling of 'Mjøllnir' and 'Ragnarók'.**

**TL;DR: I do what I want.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**_Daemon_**

_The Meeting of Odin and Loki_

* * *

**"DOES ANYONE **DARE TO EVEN TRY AND CHALLENGE ME FOR THIS MONEY, for twelve gold coins?!"

The young man's head snapped up and he squinted from the corner of the room. He was a tall man, much taller than any but his two brothers, with long, poorly cut, flaming red hair, tattered clothes and bare feet. He looked to be in his early twenties, young and handsome in a somewhat feminine way, with an angular face, nimble hands and, when called for, a smile that was as endearing as it was quelling. And he was smiling now as he stood up.

"I will."

The man who had spoken first, merely known as the Wolf, looked the slighter man up and down. The Wolf was a burly man wrapped up in a wolf skin cloak, muscular and intimidating with oily black hair and a roughly cut beard. "You? Ha! You're not serious?"

"Oh, I'm very serious. Could do with a bit of money."

"You're blind, so how do you even _hope_ to compete against me?"

The red-haired man wasn't blind, but the thin strip of cloth he had wound over his eyes suggested it. His smile grew wider. "Intuition."

The Wolf sat himself down at the table he had stood up from. On the table was a checkered board upon which twenty-five stones were spread; sixteen of these were white and nine of them, one with a hole drilled into the centre, were black. The man waked across the dimly lit room and swung a second chair around, sitting on it the wrong way and leaning on the back. There were maybe ten other people in the tavern; the tavernmaster who was talking animatedly with a man sitting on a stool and he had a woman around which his arm was wrapped. Whilst their ages were grossly different, the woman didn't seem to mind the man's company. Other groups and individuals were talking quietly amongst themselves over alcohol.

"You're not blind, are you?" the Wolf said, narrowing his eyes.

"Err, cataracts."

"At _your_ age?"

"Yes." His sinister smile split his face. "We're all different, after all."

The Wolf set the board between them up and when he had done, he said, "You're black."

The red-haired man raised an eyebrow and said smoothly, "Fine."

The game the two were playing was called _Hnefatafl_, something which was usually won by the smarter of the two players. The aim was to get the centre piece, the king — which in this case was the black stone with the hole in the middle — to one of the board's corners without the white pieces surrounding the king and therefore capturing him. The red-haired man thought himself to be quite clever and thought therefore this to be an easy collection of money.

"What's your bet?"

"Bet—?" The man frowned. "Err ... what if I were to say I don't actually _have_ anything to bet?"

"Then I'm going to tell you to scat."

The man bit his lip. "I really need some money, so can't you just make a one off—?"

"No money, no play."

"But—"

"And no buts. Now if you don't put something on the table, you'd better be out of my sight before I lose my patience."

The man twitched; he needed that money, and twelve gold coins would mean he would have money for months. Sometimes, he just got irritated at having to resort to stealing things. It wasn't that he didn't like it, on the contrary, he enjoyed it, but sometimes, like tonight, he just wasn't in the mood.

The man sighed and stood up. "Fine."

He walked around the table and, when he was right next to the Wolf, brushed down his belt with a deft hand and took ahold of the coin pouch. He tugged and the Wolf exclaimed in surprise as he noticed something odd. The coin pouch came away and the red-haired man backed away, the pouch in his hand. The other people cut their conversations short to look around at the other two men.

"What in the gods' names do you think you're _doing_?" the Wolf snarled.

The man danced away as the Wolf surged to his feet, drawing a short seax from a sheath on his belt.

"Getting some money?" the man said questioningly.

The Wolf swiped and the slighter man jumped up and, despite his towering height, flipped over the Wolf with ease. He landed on the _Hnefatafl_ table nimbly and kicked the pieces at the Wolf's back.

"'Getting some money' my arse!" the Wolf snarled.

"Well, I am—"

"Who are you to come in here and then to even _think_ of stealing from me of all people?!"

"But I don't really know who you are, actually, so forgive me on that count."

The Wolf lunged for him and the man jumped, landed on the Wolf's back — therefore planting his face into the table — and slid onto the floor ... right into a pair of arms that restrained him. The red-haired man kicked and writhed, but the man holding him from behind hung on grimly.

The Wolf stood up and whirled around, his eyes blazing with hate. "Piece of shit! Cataracts my arse, no person half-blind can do those sorts of stunts."

He grabbed the blindfold and ripped it off.

The red-haired man closed his eyes tightly and the Wolf grabbed his face with a hand.

"Look at me, damn you."

"Bite me."

The Wolf punched him hard in the stomach and the red-haired man doubled over and grunted with pain. His eyes flew open at the impact of the fist and the Wolf hissed in triumph.

"I knew it; daemon scum."

The woman at the bar gasped at the words. The Wolf touched the man's jaw with the tip of his seax. Around the room, the other men who had been sitting at their tables watching the show, now drew weapons of their own. All of them were pointed at the daemon man.

"If I see your face ever again, I will kill you, am I understood?"

The daemon looked at him through narrowed eyes and hissed, "Screw you."

"Get it out of here," the tavernmaster said stiffly.

The Wolf was only too happy to oblige. He grabbed the daemon by the hair and jerked him none too gently to the door. He wrenched it open and threw him out and down the steps. "And stay out!" After a pause, they threw his pack out too and it landed by his feet with a muffled _thump_ before the door slammed shut.

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#

* * *

**LOKI** PICKED UP his fallen pack, shouldered it and shuffled down the road slightly doubled over, his mood foul. The village he was in was made of maybe seventy wooden houses, perched on platforms due to the slope they were built on. The main road, which was nothing more than hard packed mud, wound through the settlement in a snaking line down the slope, lined with large stones. The air was chilly due to the late hour, but despite his light clothing, Loki didn't feel the cold. He would have to try and find a good place to kip for the night, what with no food, no place to stay and even less money; not that he was new to living a hard life. He hated himself for what he was. He knew he was a monster, the son of a human and a giant, a daemon from the south. 'Daemon scum' was an insult which was not new to him.

He wandered slowly to the end of the road and he sat, dropping his pack and sitting on it moodily. His stomach still hurt from where he had been hit and he allowed himself to curl up, cursing the Wolf under his breath. He wasn't a stranger to being beaten up occasionally, either; that was, when his attackers were able to catch him. Whilst he was slippery, his downfalls often resulted from people sneaking up behind him like that man had done. Getting driven away was the most usual outcome, sometimes being coupled with a second beating. All he had wanted was a warm bed, a warm hearth, somewhere to sleep, but the money he had paid the innkeeper with was gone behind the slammed door.

Grinding his teeth, he lay down and, using his pack as a pillow, tried to find some sleep. He didn't notice the beady eyed raven flutter down upon the road behind him, watching him with its head cocked to one side.

A raven with daemon eyes.

* * *

#

* * *

**"YOU."**

Loki awoke with a jerk, sitting upright and covering his face with his arm when his eyes were met with torchlight. He couldn't have been asleep for more than a few minutes.

"Take your arm down, kid, and get up."

Loki didn't, only slumped back down onto his pack, curled his legs up and murmured sleepily, "Go wake up someone else." He couldn't see the man's face properly, the torchlight threw it into contrasting shadows and the broad brimmed hat he wore as well wasn't helping matters.

"I said to get up, and I expect you to do so," the man said.

"And you think you can order me around like I'm some thrall?"

"I think I can."

"Then who do you think you are?"

"And what about you, daemon?"

Loki flinched. "Who're you calling a daemon?"

"You, kid."

"I'm not a kid!" Loki snarled, still refusing to make eye contact. "Stop calling me that!"

"Then what should I call you?"

"Loki, if you must know."

"A strong name."

"Alright," he said slowly. "What do you want? Either tell me or screw off."

"Are all daemons this mouthy?"

Loki, annoyed, swore loudly at him.

"That, then, is a question to be answered later." The man sighed and dropped his torch, crouching down to Loki's level. He still didn't look around. "Who was it? Your daemon parent, I mean."

It was the strangest thing, but Loki's tongue seemed to answer of its own accord. He hadn't been planning on telling the stranger anything, had planned to tell him to clear off and leave him to his miserable sleep, but he found himself replying, "My father." What was this? Him, telling this man _willingly_ about the father he hated with a passion? He tried to bite his tongue, but found he couldn't do it. _Why?_ something crooned at the back of his mind. _He's asking nicely._

"How old are you, then?"

"Twenty."

"Please don't lie. How old are you _really_?"

Loki was silent for a second before saying, almost guiltily, "Seventy-one."

"Fascinating."

Loki snuck a glance at the man and saw two ravens sitting on his shoulders, both of them huge and he detected a foul smell about the birds. One of them, the one on the right shoulder, looked at him sharply and Loki drew back. The bird had eerily human looking eyes — a smaller iris and larger exposure of the sclera — and, as if to add to their strangeness, they were the eyes of a daemon. Just like his own.

"Th-their eyes," he stammered, "what are they?"

"I thought you would be familiar with them, presuming you have those daemon eyes yourself."

"But ... they're birds."

"They're my birds; my thought and my memory, for their wings are swift and their flight like lightning." The man paused for a second, before saying, "May I see your eyes, Loki? Can you look at me?"

Loki didn't move for half a minute, but then he turned his head and made eye contact. His eyes were bright gold and they shone in the dark in an eerie fashion, the pupils, in the sun, were nothing more than lines and the whites were dark. He took the chance now to study the man's face.

He was an old man, with shoulder length, ratty grey hair, a protruding nose and a strong face. Thick stubble covered his chin and neck as if he hadn't shaved for a few days at least. But the thing Loki saw at first was the intense light golden-grey eyes of the man almost as bright as his own, looking him dead into his. They didn't waver for a second until Loki started to feel a little uncomfortable. He finally broke eye contact, looking away towards the man's right shoulder again and at the raven perched on it. It was still looking at him, head cocked to one side.

"Now you've seen and gloated, just go away," Loki said, grabbing his pack and turning over to face away from the man once more, a deep scowl on his face.

"I thought I told you to get up."

"Why?" Loki asked irritably. "You're down here, so we can talk here."

"I want you to come with me."

Loki looked back at the man and snorted with laughter. "And you think I'd want to? So you can stare at me more? To put me into a travelling circus or something with your freaky ravens? Not a chance."

"How would you like to not have to hide?"

Loki paused and raised an eyebrow. "In your circus?"

The man sighed irritably. "I'm not taking you anywhere to be laughed at. Would you just listen?"

"Give me a reason."

"As I said, how you like to not have to hide, to not be feared and to be yourself?"

"What sort of place are you living in which my kind can walk around like we're normal? I have to hide, or I'm just driven off. "

"You won't have to, if I make you what I am, because what I am calls respect."

"Which is what, exactly? Because I don't know about you, but I don't remember seeing wanderers with daemon birds being high up on my respectables list."

"A god is something to be respected, I think."

Again, there was silence, and then Loki started laughing, long and loud until he was howling, rolling on the ground doubled up. "You're shitting me! You, a god?!" he cackled. "You're a _god_?! Ha! I haven't — ha! — pissed myself laughing like this in a long time! Ha!"

"I'm being serious."

"So am I!" Loki wheezed. Composing himself, because by this time he had really had had enough of the old man, he continued, "Look, you're funny enough, but go away; thanks for the laugh."

"But what if I don't want to 'go away'?"

"I'll hurt you, that's what."

"With what?"

"Anything."

"I don't see anything on you."

"I have a pack."

"A pack that is remarkably empty."

"Daggers are flat."

As soon as he uttered the words, one of the ravens took off from the man's shoulder, and, so quickly that Loki didn't have time to do anything but yell in surprise, took his pack up from under him with a surprising amount of strength and carried it back to the man. He held out his hand into which the bird dropped the battered and worn pack and, a few seconds of rummaging later, withdrew the short iron dagger from within.

"What weapon now, exactly?" the man said, waving it languidly in front of him.

Loki paled. "Alright, fine, since you've now stolen my dagger, I guess I can find other ways to hurt you, like with my daemon blood." It might have just been part of his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard the two ravens on the man's shoulders cackle with laughter.

"Indeed," the man said. "But, if you may be so kind to enlighten me, just exactly how do you propose to gain control of your magic enough to hurt me? You can't control it, and both you and I know it. I've been watching you, Loki Laufeyjarson, for far longer than you might imagine; Huginn and Muninn have been keeping an eye on you for me for a while. Your father, Fárbauti, was a fire giant, and your mother, Laufey, came from the village of Harren, where you were born as well. You're the second of three sons, your older brother being Býleistr and your younger brother Helblindi. Your childhood years were anything but comfortable. Your body aged slowly, for one, so by the time you were an adult mentally, you were no more than six physically. You were mocked and spat upon, you had people out to hurt you and kill you simply because of your heritage, and your hopes to fit into this world were quickly snuffed out. And so, you gained a reputation for being different; volatile; unstable; a creature of Chaos who found their joy in life to be to sow seeds of destruction. When you were twenty, your mother died and you set out by yourself. You have lived on the road for decades, sometimes going for months at a time without any human interaction. And, after a long time of searching, my ravens found you finally and I travelled to meet you, so here we are."

"How do you know all of that?" Loki snarled. He dug his fingers into the dirt and he felt something in his chest, an inner fire; it grew hot whenever his emotions were roiling and indeed, small flames came to life at his fingertips. "Just how long have you been spying on me?!"

"For a few months now, in fact. It's taken a lot of hard work to pin you down, believe me."

"So you've been biding your time for however long now for me to come into the crosshairs? Why?"

"Well, I've been called a manipulative bastard before. And now to prove it to you: you have no money, you're stuck, and that's where I come in and offer you a deal."

"And why do you think I would accept? You just admitted to being a manipulative bastard and even provided a poor example, so why would I take a deal from you? After what little you've told me about yourself, you must think me an idiot if you expect me to bargain with you now. I know nothing about you except what you've told me in the last five minutes, and yet you seem to know far too much about me."

"You flaunt it."

"Flaunt it or not, it still doesn't mean I'm welcome to be tailed by you or anyone else!" Loki exclaimed.

"Maybe," the man said, "but it brings attention on yourself."

"Why are you interested in me?!" Loki hollered. "Why do you care so much you'd send your daemon birds after me? What have I done?"

"Firstly as to why I'm interested in you, I want your help which I hope we can discuss later. Secondly, it is because I feel for your position, because my birds have reported back to me how you're treated by the general populace and I am disgusted by it. And thirdly, you asked what you've done and, well, all I can say is that you've been yourself and that in itself is something remarkable. You interest me, you and your magic. I see you suffering under it, and it causes me sympathy."

"I don't want your pity!" Loki bellowed. "All I want from you is to leave me alone!"

"I came to you to make you an offer, an offer in which I can teach you to use your magic."

"Prove it."

The man sighed and fished around in his coat, producing a tiny worn bag on a string. He extracted a stone from it, flat and about the length of a finger joint with a scratched symbol on it which glowed with a ruddy orange light. The rock, now placed in the palm of the man's hand, shattered, but from it came a great tongue of fire. Loki flinched as the fire engulfed the man's whole arm up to the elbow, licked at his flesh and clothes, but left not a mark. It went out a second later with a snap and the ravens on the man's shoulders shuffled their wings, piercing Loki with their black and gold eyes so much like his own.

"Will you take up my offer?"

Loki didn't have to think for more than a blink of an eye; he stood up quickly.

The man beamed and tossed his pack back to him. "Excellent! We'll be off, then!"

"Before we go," Loki said, "what's your name?"

The man paused for a second, not looking at him, and said, "I am the Allfather, Odin, Son of Bór, and Ruler of the Æsir."

* * *

#

* * *

**ODIN** OPENED THE inn door and, when they stepped into the building, silence fell almost at once. Loki felt uncomfortable; it had been years since he'd shown his eyes publicly, surely over half a century. A couple of people had left since he'd last been inside, and now the man and the woman were locked together at the end of the bar by their lips.

Odin seemed not to notice any of this, striding up to the bar and striking conversation with the innkeeper. "Two mugs of your best mead." He sat down on a stool, took his hat off and slipped a couple of coins onto the bench and slid them towards the man. "Make it quick."

The innkeeper tore his eyes away from Loki and nodded to Odin with a very small movement; he looked like he wanted to protest at Loki's presence dearly, but Odin's strangely intimidating manner struck the man silent. He went to the other end of the bar, opened a barrel tap and began filling two tankards with the contents. Loki watched him perform the task, still standing in the doorway. He felt no desire to enter the premises again, what with his newest grudges and bruises.

"Oi, you, daemon, I thought I told you to never show your face here again, or are you too damn stupid to take my words seriously?"

It was the Wolf, and a scowl was deeply set into his face.

"I would be quiet if I were you," Odin said, his voice suddenly whip-like as his eyes snapped to the man.

The Wolf turned to stare Odin down, a slight sneer on his face. "Why? What will you do? He's a daemon, what do you expect me to treat him like?"

"I expect you to treat him like something that is far more powerful than you. Believe me; you do not want a daemon as your enemy. Call it personal experience."

"And who are you?"

"Who I am is none of your concern," Odin snapped. "But for you, you may call me Grímnir. And you, Loki, get here."

Loki scowled and trudged forward, swinging the stool next to Odin out and sitting on it grumpily. He interlocked his fingers on the benchtop and stared at them under lowered brows.

The innkeeper reappeared; the tankards in a hand each and he place them forcibly onto the bench. "I would please ask you not to rile him up," he said in an undertone to Odin, casting a nervous glance at Loki which he ignored.

"And why not?" Odin replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. He wrapped a hand around one of the drinks, raised it to his lips and sipped at the contents quietly.

"Because that's the Wolf," Loki murmured. "Ran into him earlier, took my blindfold off and saw my eyes; it's why I was planning to skip town in the morning."

"Him?" Odin snorted, placing the tankard back on the bench with a _bang_. "I've never seen anyone less wolf-like in my life. If you're wary of him, then you're in worse shape than I thought."

"The Wolf is a nasty piece of work," Loki said somewhat defensively.

Odin grunted in such a way that Loki knew he didn't take him seriously. Loki's scowl deepened and he crossed his arms, leaning on the bench and glaring at the opposite wall.

"Drink."

Loki flicked a glance at him as Odin proffered him the second of the two tankards. "Why?"

"Because it was nice of me to buy you that drink, and I would be offended if you didn't drink it," Odin said.

Loki grabbed the tankard and gulped down a couple of mouthfuls. The sickly sweet sour taste of the mead left an aftertaste in his mouth and he shook his head quickly; he hated sweet things. "Why mead?"

Odin shrugged. "I like it," was the only answer he gave. "Now," he said, turning to face Loki, "give me your hand."

Loki gave Odin his left hand. He drew a dagger quickly and cut the palm diagonally. Loki yelped in surprise and pain, jerking his hand back and the cut widened.

He glared at Odin. "What—?!"

"Quiet." Odin cleaned Loki's blood off the blade with an edge of his cloak and cut his own hand. His right palm welled with blood and he held his hand up, elbow on the bench. "Take it."

"Why?" Loki asked suspiciously, cradling his injured hand.

"I'm going to make a binding oath between us. If you want to come with me, then I expect you to do this and become my blood brother."

Loki swallowed. He wanted to learn magic desperately enough that he only thought for a couple of seconds before extending his left hand and grasping Odin's right.

"By doing this, you are bound to me with blood; you must do as I say and I swear. We will drink only together, and we will fight together. Do you swear to do these things?"

Loki nodded. "Alright."

"Either say it formality, or don't say anything at all."

"Fine; I swear."

"Do you swear to uphold this oath of brotherhood between us?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to give me your loyalty as I will give you mine?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to remember this oath until your dying breath and do everything in your power to keep it?

"I swear."

"On your life?"

"On my life."

"And let Vár be witness to this sworn oath."

Loki frowned as he felt something in his chest. It was nothing more than a slight movement, something akin to a shiver that then travelled up his arm and stopped when it touched the cut on his palm.

"Vár has recognised this oath, and thus we are bound." Odin smiled and, after a few more seconds, took his hand away. "Brother."

Loki looked to his hand, examining the cut. "Can you ... heal it?"

"No. That scar will symbolise what we've done as long as you carry it." Odin tore a scrap of cloth from the hem of his cloak and passed it to Loki. "It's either this or nothing."

Loki took it and wrapped it around his hand, tying it tightly.

A snort came from behind them and they turned to see the Wolf eyeing them, disapproval written all over his face. "Are your brains addled?" he asked. "You just made a blood brother oath with _him_? A daemon of all people?"

"Yes, I just think I did," Odin said, "and from said blood brother oath, any insult, no matter how small which you direct at him, you direct at me."

"You deserve it," the Wolf spat, "mixing blood with him. Casting yourself in with that lot of scum."

"I will warn you a second time not to insult Loki here," Odin said, impatience rising in his tone.

"Oh, that daemon has a name now? Oi, Locky or whatever you're called, how about you and your grandpa clear off?"

Loki felt his temper rising and he went to rise from his seat; his palm felt hot with fire and the air shimmered with heat.

But Odin beat him to the punch. He turned around and took from his cloak the small leather bag and placed it on the benchtop. "This will be my final warning. If you say one more word against Loki, you'll find out what I have in this bag, and believe me, you will not like it."

The Wolf snorted. "Your bags don't scare me, _Grímnir_, which I doubt is your real name."

"You should be very afraid of my bag; you don't know what's in it."

"Don't try to impress me with your bullshit tricks, old man, I recognise rocks when I see them. You may get reactions from children, but who are you trying to kid here?"

Odin reached into the bag, plucked out a stone upon which the mark in the rock glowed bright gold and smashed it between thumb and forefinger. Loki saw the Wolf freeze, not moving a muscle which even constricted the rise and fall of his rib cage.

"'Who am I trying to kid'?" Odin asked calmly as the Wolf started to turn red. "_Please_. The next time someone threatens you, you'd better listen."

"What are you doing?" the innkeeper said in an urgent voice. "Stop, I'm asking you."

"I will stop when I please," Odin replied. Turning to Loki, he said in a conversational tone which indicated nothing amiss, "I thought you of all people would want to beat him senseless."

"Well, I tried to before," Loki grumbled, his eyes flicking between Odin and the Wolf as he struggled to draw breath, "but I hardly think one against seven was exactly a fair fight, especially when you have steel pointed at you from se—"

"Stop!"

Odin sighed deeply before he flicked his wrist with a hint of subtle annoyance. The Wolf gasped for air as he was allowed movement again, taking great breaths as if he had just run up a hill in full battle attire.

"And let that be a lesson," Odin said in a low voice, drinking more of the mead calmly as he watched the Wolf cough and retch.

"How dare you?!"

The Wolf got to his feet shakily and now Loki stood, his lips drawn back and, with this action, showed his surprisingly thick and sharp teeth to the man. The Wolf stopped dead in his tracks.

"That's right," Loki breathed, "you know what's good for you."

"What's good for me is to beat the shit out of you, daemon!"

The Wolf threw another punch at Loki but, with his back to the bench, he jumped, flipping from the floor to the benchtop before he sprung from there and onto the Wolf's shoulders. He locked his legs around his neck and brought him to the ground with a loud crash. The whole building seemed to tremble at the impact and the man and woman who had been kissing passionately broke apart for the first time since Loki and Odin had entered.

"On second thoughts, I don't think you do, actually," Loki said calmly as he rolled to his feet.

The Wolf got to his own feet and Loki, now intensely sick of the fight, kicked the man in the face. The Wolf flew back, howling. Loki had felt his nose break under his heel and indeed, when the Wolf looked up, his face was covered in blood.

"What _are_ you?" he whispered.

"Someone you do not want for an enemy, like my brother said," Loki told him in a deadly quiet voice. He cast a filthy look in his direction before trudging back to the bench, finishing the mead quickly and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and saying lowly, "Let's go."

Odin gave a smile and took up his staff, pulling his broad brimmed hat on at the same time and the two of them crossed to the door. Loki paused next to the Wolf, and then bent down and took the coin pouch from his belt. This time, the Wolf didn't move.

"Thank you," Loki said sweetly, flashing a smile. He tied it to his own belt, and then the old man and the daemon walked into the night.

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**On my profile you can find a link to a table which shows what the runes look like, explains their different meanings in their whole and reverse forms and something I would appreciate you looking at because it took me a long time to put together and clean up. It's something which is helpful for this since I can't put images into the text, which kinda sucks.**

**Thanks for reading!**

_**—aylithe**_

_**UP NEXT: THE ÆSIR—VANIR WAR**_


	2. The Æsir-Vanir War (Part One)

**If this seems a bit patched together, it sorta is. I'm one of those people who writes out of order, so I'm sorry if it jumps too much. I'm also still working out the kinks in the characters, but hey, it's the first draft.**

**I also like to call this "Chapter Exposition"~**

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**_The War of Gods_**

_The Æsir-Vanir War_

* * *

**MAGIC WAS FAR** LESS EXCITING TO LEARN THAN LOKI HAD ORIGINALLY ENVISIONED IT TO BE. He had thought that he could learn all he wanted within an afternoon or two, but he had been very, very wrong. What he hadn't expected was there to be rules to it, and he found this intensely frustrating because if there was one thing he despised, it was rules; they were confining. Odin was at complete opposites with him there, he himself thriving off the restrictions magic offered and when Loki had asked him why, Odin had said because the magic had logic to it.

"Well, doesn't that defeat the purpose of calling it magic, then?" he asked, annoyed.

"Then you explain how the intricacies work." At Loki's lack of an answer, Odin gave a mocking smile. "Now, tell me the names of the runes and one aspect of what they command."

What Odin had found to be an annoying setback in Loki's education was his lack of it. He couldn't read or write, and this was something that had to be remedied quickly as magic depended on at least recognising the runes used with it. Since Loki lacked the practice, it took a long time for his mind to register the runes scratched out on pages and pages. Everywhere, he was surrounded by black lines on paper until his mind swum with them in his dreams. This in turn led to his moody attitude he brought along with him when he walked with Odin for his lessons, and these were the ones he didn't skip by going ahead on the road and leaving Odin in the dust. When they came across settlements, they would seek out inns and taverns to drink, restock on food and rest. Odin would take out parchment and ink and draw out the runes for Loki's lessons whilst he found activities more to his liking, such as chasing after pretty girls and once, a young man, each of which provided satisfaction to his nights. Loki also noticed that Odin never seemed to pay in full for their accommodation. When passing over coins to innkeepers and tavernmasters, Loki always saw that the coins Odin handed over seemed to be not quite solid, the gold flickering like the space glimpsed between a bird's fast beating wings, but the innkeepers never noticed.

"How do you do that?" Loki had asked after pointing out this observation to Odin.

Odin had smiled knowingly and flicked a runestone at Loki who had caught it. Upon its surface was _Fé_, the rune of wealth which Loki had found, to his pride, he recognised after a couple of seconds.

"Magic," Odin said.

Loki and Odin were ultimately headed towards the Northlands and the mountain range there. They travelled on foot, something Loki was entirely used to because of the nomadic lifestyle he had led for more than half a century. While he suffered in learning, Odin suffered from something he would never experience: old age. It slowed their progress considerably, and Loki was getting irritated at their pace. He was one to easily get annoyed; it was not rare to find him in a bad mood. This in turn to led to problems, namely his magic. It was extremely volatile, and Odin had asked him not long after that first night about it.

"How unstable is your magic?"

Loki looked at him, standing up from the fire and brushing his hands of dirt. "Define unstable."

"Unstable in the sense you can't choose when it comes and goes."

"Going on that; very unstable." He sat next to Odin, looking at his hands. "I would have thought after seventy years I would have some aspect of control over it. It's infuriating."

"Magic is unpredictable when it's in such a raw form. You're half-daemon, and the blood from your father is pure; very pure. He is a creature of magic, and half of it lives in you; exactly half."

"My brothers, my real brothers. We're full blood; wouldn't that mean they're as powerful as me?"

"Not necessarily." Odin threw a scrap of ham at his ravens, Huginn and Munnin as Loki had learnt, and they fought over the meat, beating their wings at each other, cawing and puffing their feathers up in displays of dominance. "Children, no matter what race or species they are, can sometimes look more like the mother or the father, correct?"

Loki nodded.

"Well, you can get those who look like a merging of the two parents like anything else, and you're that perfect merging. Magic is channelled through essence which essentially _is_ you, it's your personality, it what stops you being a sack of meat and bone; it's that spark which gives you independent thought, gives Order to what you are. Everything has essence; humans; daemons; animals; even nature as well. It's what makes things what they are. Essence will tell the wind to blow, for prey to flee from predator, for snow to bite cold, for rock to stay hard and so on. Essence is what ties the world to Order; if anything at all did not have essence, it would be Chaotic; it would have no shape, have no rules it would need to follow. Just imagine Chaos, imagine if the ground we sat upon suddenly had the consistency of mist because it does not have to follow the rules of Order anymore."

"Not good."

"Indeed. The magic I use, and what I will be teaching you, is just essence in another form. The essence for magic must come from somewhere, which is where the stones have their use. But not all magic uses outside sources of essence; for example, the magic of the eldjötnar—"

"The what?"

"Eldjötnar, another word for the fire jötnar. As I was saying, their magic is much more powerful and ancient than mine; unpredictable and capable of many great and terrible things, things I could never even hope to achieve. And this is where you are so important, you who is exactly half-human, half-jötunn. You are the embodiment of two different sources of essence, such that it is spilt so precisely down the middle, is nothing short of incredible. You can access both the magic of the jötnar, and the magic that can be reached by humans. And because of the fine balance, you have the best one can ever hope for if you think about it mathematically, having equal amounts of both magics, whereas most would have more of one than the other. At least, in theory."

"'In theory'," Loki scoffed. "So how do you know my brothers aren't like me?"

"Because Huginn and Muninn found the both of them before you; you were _very_ difficult to find. Býleistr — who, if memory serves, is your older brother — has a more dominant daemon side, and Helblindi more human."

"So, you passed over them and came to me for my magic. Why?"

Odin didn't answer; instead, he changed the subject. "So, you said your magic is unstable. My ravens have told me your magic, your fire, comes when you're angry."

Loki, scowling at the new direction the conversation had taken, paused before shaking his head.

"No? Why, then?"

"I ... it's when I just have lots of emotion; it just leaks out. Anger is just what usually triggers it. If I have some sort of emotional peak of any kind, the fire emerges." Loki shook his head, this time in frustration, glaring into the night. "But only when my emotions are just so primeval and uncontrollable ... when I can't think. So many times I've flown into a rage which has brought the fire forth, and the next thing I know is that everything around me is burning."

"Interesting." Odin threw another scrap of meat to the birds. "But it has me thinking that despite the fact that you fear it so much, you haven't trained your emotions to accommodate these factors, especially your anger."

Loki snapped his eyes to Odin and he dug his fingers in the dirt; his head began to throb in an effort to keep his temper in check. "Well, you get my snarky nature when you've been treated like shit your entire life and people hate you for just existing," Loki hissed. "Out of the two conflicting forces, my anger and annoyance is the more dominant feature."

"But if it's been happening to you your entire life, wouldn't you get used to it?"

"Just because you get used to being treated like shit, it doesn't mean it hurts any less. It's worst when the insults hit your soft spots. When she was still alive, my mother was called a giant's whore and was accused of being desperate to jump on anything that even grunted. People constantly threw stones at me and they went to the earls to beg for the deaths of my brothers and I. When I was thirteen, someone set our house alight, but of course my brothers and I didn't burn, but my mother was severely injured. At sixteen, I burnt down the house of the person who'd set ours alight after I found out their identity. At twenty, my brothers and I were banished from our home mere moments after our mother died, and we watched as they dumped her body in the river and just let it go; we retrieved her body later and buried her in a inadequate grave because the earth was relentless to the best of our efforts to dig it up. After all of that, you start to hate them." He glared at Odin. "Now, you go through that for seventy-one years and try to be fucking virtuous."

"I can appreciate that; and I don't blame you for the path you've taken."

Loki grunted at that and wrapped his arms around his knees. "Why did you seek me and my magic out? You wouldn't have done it out of the goodness of your heart. From my experience, gods of any kind are never benevolent enough to help anyone, no matter if they're a king or just plain pig shit, or how devoted they are."

"I need your help."

Loki snorted. "My help? Why? You're a god, you've been rubbing that in my face, so why would you need my help?"

"A god only in title; a king or lord may be given titles and wealth beyond anything ever imaginable, but, at the heart of it, he is still human. I've seen so many gods rise and fall over my years it only continues to crash down on me about how delicate the position I hold is. One slip up, one loss, and then it's all over. The people don't want their deities to be weak, they want them to fit their ideals; to be all powerful."

"So that's why you insist on being called 'Allfather'?"

"Exactly."

"But you still haven't told me why you wanted me or my magic."

"Can you not be content with what I have told you?" Odin demanded finally. "I will tell you at a later date."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me."

"And I have told you to wait!" Odin thundered.

Loki flinched at the sudden harsh tone Odin had taken, something which he was ashamed of, but the old man had the sort of voice that commanded power and enforced obedience. Loki didn't question after it again, but he knew it wasn't anything good if the man wasn't telling him. He wasn't stupid, far from it, but after failing to tease the true reason out of Odin for quite some time now, he seriously began to consider leaving. But the tantalising hope of controlling his magic and learning to use it was too much. Whatever the man wanted from him, Loki thought it couldn't be too bad. At least, not as bad as anything he'd experienced, and he'd experienced a lot.

* * *

#

* * *

**IT** WAS THREE or four weeks later that Odin declared they had reached their destination. Their journey north had brought them out of the slightly warm but bitter climate of the advancing autumn season to lands where snow already lay on the ground. Odin had wrapped himself in more layers of clothing the further north they travelled whilst Loki had turned down offers of extra padding. He didn't get cold, part of his father's heritage; his blood ran hot and thick which allowed him to even walk around barefoot in only a shirt and breeches in the depths of winter. Loki looked around, but if he was expecting something to mark this particular area of land, he was to be bitterly disappointed.

They were perhaps half a day on horseback from the foothills of the Shkyrøring Mountains, which cut directly across the northern section of the land. They separated Midgardr's inhabitants from the Uncharted Lands, or Jötunnheimr, where the jötnar of ice and rock dwelt. Not only were they far from any form of settlement, but Odin had seen it to be fit to stop them in the middle of a large, open plain; a thin, dying layer of grass covered in frost crunched underfoot which not even the most determined of cattle could have eaten. In the air was a silence so pressing the only sounds Loki could hear was his own and Odin's breathing and the crackling ice as he shifted his weight. There was no sign of anything, not even a dilapidated hut to mark the area.

"So, you brought me all this way to stand in some field?" Loki said flatly. "Great. Just great."

"You'll see." Odin looked towards the highest peak of the mountains, squinting at it; Loki didn't know the name of the peak. "_Heimdallr_!" Odin bellowed.

_He's lost it; I've come all this way with a madman_, Loki thought.

But seconds later, a blast shook the plain. Loki shielded his face from the blinding light that burst forth in front of Odin and it took a long time for Loki to blink back the after image from his eyes. Odin had turned to look at him, waiting for his reaction with an amused look in his eye. Loki looked past Odin and it took a huge amount of effort to keep his face straight. At Odin's feet was a bridge, but not a bridge made of wood or stone or any other sort of building material, but a bridge of light. It was a thousand shifting colours; a rainbow as wide as a road and semi-transparent. It stretched in a smooth arc from the ground into the cloud cover and Loki followed the arc high into the air, his neck cricking as he stretched his head back.

"Well ... look at that," was all he said. "Damn."

"Come."

Loki was then hardly surprised at all as Odin stepped onto it and started to climb. It wasn't like climbing steps, Loki thought, but the rainbow — the bridge — seemed to be pushing him up, Odin himself doing very little work to help his ascent. Loki followed. He extended his leg and put weight onto it, half expecting to feel the frosty grass beneath his toes once more, but the bridge was much more solid than it initially appeared. His foot seemed to be resting on something which felt slightly unstable under his weight, but it supported him well enough. Loki brought his other foot forward and as soon as it left the ground, he began to rise quickly.

At first his steps were of one climbing stairs, but then he realised that even if he walked like he would on flat ground, he still climbed higher; it also looked far less silly. His ears popped as he rose, gliding fast towards the peak of the mountain, much faster than even a falcon could fly. He laughed, wondering at the magic spiriting him through the air. Looking down, he saw the rainbow was shimmering with faint runes which pulsed every few seconds before fading again. They seemed to swim through the light, knitting together to make bindrunes before undoing themselves and bonding with others. And then he suddenly realised how _high_ he was; he looked firmly forward again after this, feeling slightly sick to the stomach. He went through the cloud cover soon after and emerged slightly damp and a little cold; he flicked water from his eyes irritably. A short while later, he stepped off the bridge and he saw Odin waiting for him. Next to him was a man who looked to be in his fortieth or so year.

His blonde hair was so fair it was almost white and it had been gathered into a long tail reaching his mid back and wrapped in leather. His eyes were like Loki's; black and gold with silts for pupils. His face was weathered and it had a slightly sinister look to it. He was clothed in a shirt of thin, silvery mail which had traded protection for lightness; he would be able to go for a long while without having to remove it. He was thickly built, the muscles in his arms having an almost sculptured look about them and his pale skin only emphasised the point. On his hip was a beautiful white horn made of gold; knotted patterns snaked over the surface and Loki found it difficult following a single pattern for any more than a second or two. In the man's hand was a sword. A naked sword which was pointed at Loki's chest.

"Whoa, whoa," he said, stopping suddenly as the tip touched him on the sternum. He held his hands up in surrender. "Point that somewhere else."

"Heimdallr, enough." Odin's voice had been quiet, but the man, Heimdallr, took his sword down.

"I was merely being cautious, my lord, what with the war." When he spoke, flashes came from his gold coated teeth as they caught the light.

"War? What war?" Loki said. He looked to Odin and his eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "That's why, isn't it? Why you sought me out but ignored my brothers. You want me to fight in some war for you, don't you?" His jaw jumped and a snarl carved itself onto his face. Heimdallr had moved himself in front of Odin, his sword held in front of him and his stance one of a man ready to fight.

"Step back, daemon," Heimdallr warned.

"That's rich, coming for you," Loki spat, eyes livid. "What will you do if I don't step back?" Fire sparked in his fingers.

A flicker of uncertainty passed through Heimdallr's eyes. "I'll run you through."

"Good luck with that," Loki retorted. "I can be fast when I want."

"Enough, the both of you."

The two of them looked towards Odin who looked if anything slightly irritated at their behaviour.

Loki spat on the ground. "You're telling me to calm down? I will not calm down. You did not tell me I was being brought here to be your weapon; you told me you would teach me to control my magic! But to make me a trophy, a _weapon_? I did not agree to come with you for this!"

"And I'm keeping my promise, aren't I? Consider your help in this war to be my price for your education. You agreed to come with me no matter what; it's your own fault for not looking into the case first."

"Oh I tried, but I distinctly remember you not answering my questions."

"Only after we swore the oath."

Pointing at Odin, he bared his teeth threateningly. "What were you planning to do? Drag me back here and talk to me quietly about why you need my help and effort in this war I haven't heard of until now? You want to keep me under control like some sort of tamed animal? I don't know about you, but I know this: I am fire, and fire burns. You can't control me. Someone tried once, and it did not end well! This is not my war to fight; it's yours. You got yourself into it through either direct engagement or pissing someone off enough they attacked you so either way, it's your own damn fault for being the position you're in at the moment, and you're expecting me to be the one to—to sweep this under the rug?!" He was shaking, quivering with rage and he said venomously, "Thanks for dragging me all the way here; I hope for your sake we don't meet again."

"And how are you going to leave, exactly?"

Loki swore loudly. The bridge had vanished, stranding him. He looked around desperately, but saw only solid ground stretching for what seemed miles in every direction. Under their feet were polished flat stones, each bearing a runemark or a bindrune arranged in a circular fashion. He couldn't read them, or even at this time of anger and panic make any sense of them. Loki searched desperately for some sort of way he could get away, but it was impossible.

The three of them were standing on another plain, wisps of early morning mist clinging to their knees and covering the ground in every direction. Behind them was a steep drop, the end of which vanished around the mountain's bend in the distance; the cliff face itself was too sheer to climb down. The peak of the mountain rose for another few hundred metres in the air opposite the cliff, the top being a ragged crag upon which a beautiful stone building was perched. Upon the roof were rounded shields of metal, painted brightly and glimmering in the sun. The hall was long, long enough to house many hundreds, or even thousands, of people very comfortably; it was the biggest building Loki had even seen. A city spread beneath it, hundreds upon hundreds of wood and stone houses with thatched roofs spread in neat rows around it, filled with streets lined with whitewashed cobblestones. Halls were spread beneath the huge building, these made of stone and wood and far grander than any lord's home. Each was long and looked luxurious. Growing from behind the huge stone hall was a tree — an ash, he thought — that was strangely free from frost; it was impossibly green and seemed to glow with health. Between the buildings, Loki could see people moving through the streets.

Under different circumstances he would have been struck dumb, but he was too angry to care about it now. "Bring that rainbow back," Loki growled. "Let me go."

"No."

Loki's shoulders tensed and he lunged at Odin, but Heimdallr caught him around the middle. "Fuck off, or I'll kill you, too!" Loki burned and Heimdallr released him with a cry of alarm. Loki bluntly realised that part of Heimdallr's arm seemed to have liquefied, the top layer of skin dripping water. So, the bastard at least had blood telling him he had ice jötunn heritage. This was dully noticed, the train of thought soon being banished as Loki grabbed the front of Odin's cloak and came very close to his face, baring his sharp teeth. "Let. Me. Go."

"Remember what I said when I made you my blood brother, Loki? About how you had to do whatever I told you?"

Loki froze. The words came floating back to him now and he said darkly, "I ..."

"I told you very plainly and clearly what it would imply if I were to make you my blood brother."

"But you only did it because you knew I would react like this! But guess what? I don't give a damn about that; that was the past."

A pressing silence fell. Odin said very quietly, very seriously, "You made an oath, Loki. If there is one thing more powerful in this world than magic, it is a binding oath. Break your word — and on that matter, if anyone or anything who has sworn an oath breaks their word — means that the outcomes for the individual will not be enviable. Never underestimate the power of an oath, Loki."

Loki thought desperately over the words. Odin was quite serious, more serious than Loki had ever seen and he felt panicked, constricted.

"Where was the part that you had to do whatever I say, about that part where we would be equal when you swore blood between us?" he said, stabbing at another chance.

"I never said we would be equal; I said that we would drink together, fight together and protect each other."

Loki felt his stomach drop. That had been his last hope. "You—"

"I warned you; I told you I was a manipulative bastard."

"You didn't give me anything; you took my freedom away!"

"Call it what you want, but you are still bound to do whatever I order you to. Order, not tell, or ask. With that, if I say I want you to fight in this war you, will fight in this war, and I will still teach you magic. I swear it. Not only that, but I will provide you with anything you want. Does that not outweigh the present?"

"What about making me not fight if you say you give me anything I damn want?"

"No."

Loki's grip tightened. "You forgot to say that I would be putting my body and life on the line because of your skirmish which will 'outweigh the now' in the future. What about the part if, oh, I don't know, you don't fucking win? Whoever you're fighting, you're having trouble defeating, and I've seen what you can do; so take a second to imagine what they will do to me if they're triumphant. I think a month's worth of torture is looking on the bright side of things, wouldn't you agree?"

"But the thing is," Odin said, "with you fighting for us, we won't be able to lose."

* * *

#

* * *

**"BATH."**

"Are you serious?"

"I do hate to break it to you, my lord, but you smell like a stable. Get in, now."

"I hate water. And don't call me that."

"Please just get in, _my lord_."

Loki crossed his arms and glared at the water in the metal tub. He looked almost imploringly back at the young woman who also had her arms firmly crossed. She was a servant Odin had assigned to him. She was blonde and spindly with dark eyes and a plump face which didn't match her overall body shape; it gave an odd look to her. He'd forgotten her name as soon as she'd told him, and he didn't want to ask for it again as it would make him look like a fool. "You do know what happens when fire and water mix, right? Doesn't end so well for the flames."

"You're not made of fire, my lord, you're merely an embodiment of it. And you know the water won't hurt you like it would a real fire giant."

"Look, baths and I don't mix."

"My nose and odours don't mix, either, my lord, and they don't mix with the rest of Asgard. Now just please, please get in."

Loki sighed and put his fingers in the water. It was very hot. He looked back at the woman's face, at her annoyed expression and sighed. "Fine. Two minutes, and only two minutes."

She looked away as he stripped and inched himself in; it wasn't the heat that slowed his submersion — in fact, he hardly noticed it at all — but it was the prospect of getting wet. He hadn't been lying when he said he didn't mix well with water; he hated the rain with a passion for one thing, as, when he exposed himself for long enough to water, it started to sting his skin slightly. Loki closed his eyes and went under the surface to wet his hair. He had to admit to himself he was filthy, but it was a filth he didn't mind simply because he was so used to it. He washed himself with a sponge whilst the woman washed and brushed his hair.

"Your hair is beautiful," she said whilst she worked the soap through it, "but these knots..."

Loki grunted; as long as it did its job of covering his scalp, he didn't care whether it was nice or not, or full of knots, either. "Just hurry up," he growled. He could feel the water beginning to tingle his skin and it was steaming ever so slightly.

"Almost done."

"I'm not joking, let me out."

"My lord, please, I have to wash this out." She hefted a huge bowl of water onto the table she was working off and began to get the soap out. The moment she was done, Loki leapt out of the bath and stood there, shivering. He wasn't particularly picky about his own nakedness, but the servant turned away with a squeak. He ignored her, only looked around for his clothes. He frowned. "Where're my clothes?"

"Why?" she said, still turned away from him. "Why would you think we'd leave you with those?"

Loki glowered. "So, you're saying they're gone?"

"Yes, my lord."

"They were my only clothes!" Loki cried.

"You don't expect to rely on one set of clothes when you're here, surely?" she said, peeking a glance at him.

Loki didn't say anything to that, merely crossed his arms in annoyance. "Just hurry up," he said again.

She gave a curtsy and passed him a towel and he took it, running it through his fingers. It was unbelievably soft against his rough hands, and it seemed like such a waste of talent for a person to make such a piece of fabric for a towel.

"Aren't you going to cover yourself, my lord?" she pressed after half a minute.

Loki blinked. "Oh … right." He wrapped it around his waist almost sheepishly.

She gave him another one. "To dry your hair," she explained when he didn't take it.

"Look, one's fine—"

"It's easier like this."

"I suppose I need some more for each one of my fingers," he said mockingly. "How pampered does bathing get, exactly?"

"If you think this is over the top," she muttered to herself, unaware Loki could still hear her due to his sensitive ears, "then you should see a woman's bath."

"I can see one of those, sometime?" he put in.

She flinched. "Your clothes are here, my lord," she said briskly. She strode past him, not making eye contact as a second serving woman came in with a pile of clothes in her arms. She gave them to her with another curtsy and exited the room. "Here, my lord. Your coin pouch and dagger are outside. You'll get some more clothes once we have time to make you some." She gave them brusquely to Loki and followed the other servant out of the room.

Loki raised an eyebrow and then, after drying himself, pulled the clothes on. The long shirt was made of fine wool and it didn't scratch at his skin as his old one had and it was odd if nothing else; the sleeves were voluminous and he found them annoying after a few seconds. The breeches he pulled on were made of cured deer hide, the bottoms of which he tied with a leather band to stop them flapping around his ankles. There was also a leather belt with a buckle he strongly suspected was made of silver; the belt itself was very thick, at least the width of his palm and he buckled it over his shirt. There was also a pair of soft boots that came up to his mid calf which he didn't put on; he hated shoes. He was also surprised to find within the jumble of things, a woven band for his arm made of gold; he didn't put it on. Overall, despite the fine quality of his new things, Loki missed his old, travel worn and grubby garments.

He exited the room and found the servant waiting for him. She looked at his bare feet, but didn't say anything about his lack of footwear. She gestured for him to follow her. He stayed a few paces behind her, looking around the halls warily.

Odin had lead him up a winding, back way to the hall atop the mountain, and it was only as they got closer Loki had begun to truly appreciate how big the place was. Valhalla, it was called, and it reached at least three hundred paces long by Loki's guessing and eighty wide. He'd asked how something so big had been made, and Odin had replied, "Through a lot of time, effort and patience." And it wasn't just Valhalla which took up the mountain top. Another hall, this one smaller but still bigger than anything Loki had seen before Valhalla, was situated behind Valhalla from the bridge he and Odin had crossed. Glaðsheimr, the place where the highly ranked inhabitants of Asgard spent their leisure hours. It was a meeting place, a place of market and housed the bathing houses, guest rooms — where Loki was currently staying as he'd been shown before — and home to other various forms of leisure activity.

Whilst Loki considered himself to have a fairly good sense of direction, the sprawling corridors of Glaðsheimr had confused him greatly, so he was careful not to let the woman out of his sight. But despite what he had been told by Odin, he was surprised about the fact he, apart from the two servants, was the only person he had seen in the place. He hadn't commented on it, incase this observation happened to bring down people upon him.

"I'll come to fetch you later," the woman said stopping outside a door which Loki recognised as his temporary quarters. "But please, relax until then, my lord."

She turned to walk away, but Loki caught her arm; she froze. "I've already told you," he said in an undertone, "don't call me 'my lord'. I'm not a lord."

"You are; you are the blood brother to the Allfather. I must call you that."

"Just … just don't, alright?"

She pursed her lips. "What else should I call you, then?"

"Loki is just fine," he said.

She looked very uncomfortable as she said, "Well then, Loki, I will be back later. Please, just don't wander off; this place can get very confusing."

He released her and opened his door.

It was a simple, yet elegant bedroom. It was spacious with minimal furniture that was nothing more than a table with a chair, a grand, full length mirror and a bed. The varnished oaken walls, something he had certainly hardly ever seen before, were unadorned from any decoration which, he had to admit, came as a bit of surprise to him, what with the obvious extravaganza elsewhere. A window looked out onto a garden which, like the huge ash tree dominating Asgard, was fully green despite it being autumn.

Loki sat on the bed, fiddling with the sleeves he now wished he could tear off; perhaps he would, later. He had nothing to do, and he didn't want to wander out of the room incase he got lost. But perhaps getting lost would be a good thing because, he was almost certain, Odin would want to show off his newest trophy. It was how it worked, didn't it? No matter what Odin assured him, his being here was a sign of his failure to break from Odin's grasp, of becoming his prisoner. Reflecting back on it, he could see how neatly he had been played to be manipulated into his current position, and it made him feel like a fool.

* * *

#

* * *

**"THIS **IS LOKI," Odin declared.

It was evening, and Loki was standing next to Odin, his gaze downcast and drawing lines with his big toe in the dirt upon the ground. They were far more interesting and far less judging of him than the swollen crowd of people lined up in front of himself and Odin; his prediction had come true within an hour. There was close to five hundred of them, Loki thought, looking at him interestedly. He was extremely uncomfortable for him. It was one thing to walk into rooms filled with no more than ten people at a time and hold his head high regarding his identity, but to do it in front of five hundred or so people ... he felt invaded.

He and Odin were standing on the steps of Valaskjalf, one of Odin's halls in the city of Asgard. If Loki had been told such a city could be built on the top of a mountain like this before he had seen Asgard, he would have called that person a fool for even thinking it. But no, Asgard was the finest city he had ever seen and he suspected its riches were even greater than those belonging to the cities far beyond Midgardr's south. Valaskjalf was one of the many halls of Asgard and by far one of the grandest. It was very long and built of stone and silvery wood, the thatched roof of rushes and reeds were pale white. Wooden posts outside the hall were, as was the fashion in Midgardr, carved in exquisite detail; scenes of battle; of a dragon gnawing at the roots of a great tree; of the beginning of the world. The stone steps lead onto a cobbled road upon which the people were standing, their faces lit eerily in the torchlight.

Odin cleared his throat and continued, "I have sworn him to be my blood brother, and as such, I expect you to treat him with the same respect as you treat myself and my own family."

Loki had been expecting some sort of uproar at the statement, but what happened was even worse: whispering, people looking from him to Odin and muttering behind their hands. Loki saw some daemon eyes within the crowd, but they too were looking at him with distrust and even hatred. Any hope he had been harbouring in his chest withered and died.

"Allfather, why him of all people? A daemon?"

"You have stood with daemons at your side for many years now, and Loki is no different from them."

"He's a fire giant, his features speak of it!"

"Enough." Odin slammed the butt of his staff on the ground and the whispers fell into silence. "I have brought him here in the hope he will help us in our war against the Vanir. Just think of that next time you decide to curse his father. Loki has never met him, so your prejudices are undeserved on his head. Is it right to blame someone for what one of their parents has done, a parent he has never laid eyes on?"

Loki had actually seen his father, only once in a memory which was clouded and foggy, but he didn't correct Odin. As much as he hated playing the sympathy card, he saw at this moment in time it was necessary.

"Loki. Do you have anything you want to say?"

Loki looked up and shook his head. "No. And what makes you so certain I will fi—"

An explosion rocked the night, cutting Loki's sentence off abruptly.

He was thrown back and he landed on his shoulder painfully and he swore loudly. His ears were ringing, the noise overpowering the muffled screams of terror of the people. Odin came to him and shook his shoulders, yelling something at him he could barely hear. Loki closed his eyes, shaking his head and putting a hand to his eyes. The fingers came away sticky with blood. He looked to the sky and his stomach dropped. There were … people _walking_ through the air, horses and other animals of war too. They landed in Asgard with swords drawn, screaming as they attacked the people as they fled for safety. Loki must have been hit harder than he thought.

Odin let go of him and threw his cloak off and he grabbed his bag of runestones at the same time; a blast of fire came from his palm.

"Loki! Get up!"

Odin's voice sounded very distant. Why should he get up? The world had gone mad; what was the point of getting up?

Odin was thrown away by a push of magic and someone landed where he had been standing. He hadn't seen Loki. He instead paced towards Odin who was lying against the wall behind them. His blonde hair was short, tied in a small tail at the base of his skull and his chainmail armour, covered by plates, glinted. His face was rugged, his cheekbones high.

His oath … his oath to protect Odin. It seemed to pull at his centre as he got up — a tremendous effort — and he whispered, "Hey, shithead."

He stretched his hands out as the man turned around and he felt a thrill of anger which came from him as a huge tongue of flame. The man's daemon eyes widened and he brought out a runestone and deflected the flame, a snarl on his face. The fire parted around him neatly and Loki cursed. The daemon brought out another stone and blasted at him a rune Loki didn't identify quickly enough in retaliation. He jumped up and over, spinning tightly in a ball over the magic and landed on the daemon's shoulders. The man grappled at his back and Loki howled as he felt a burning cold on his side. He dropped back, holding the injury. The daemon otherwise advanced, drawing a sword from a scabbard and Loki took a step back. Tears stung his eyes from the ice and he kept one hand on his side; the skin had a tinge of blue from frostbite and it was very painful.

"An eldjötunn?" the daemon said and Loki was surprised to hear him speaking his first language. It was something he hadn't learnt from anyone, something he had always known since he first started to understand words and he found these ones already locked away in his mind. It was something he had always delighted in, something he could use as a form of secret communication with his brothers. The Old Language, something only the jötnar now spoke regularly.

"So what?" Loki hissed in the same language.

"What do you mean 'so what'?" the daemon snapped. "You're filth, scum ... a savage."

Loki's eyes widened and he flew at the daemon, bellowing. It was one thing to hear it from humans, something he understood, but to hear it from another daemon was another thing entirely. He swung his fist around, ducking under the sword and fell back on his hands and shoulders. He sprang off them, kicking at the daemon's wrist and forcing him to drop the sword. The daemon hissed with pain and Loki lashed out again with his legs, tripped the daemon and circled around him. He picked up the fallen sword and held it out awkwardly with both hands.

The daemon laughed and stood up slowly, his shoulders hunched. "You've never killed anyone before, have you?"

Loki said nothing, only readjusted his grip on the handle.

The daemon drew a seax from his belt and twirled it in a hand, a casual movement. "Thought not; you hesitation gives you away. Your acrobatics will only save you for so long, fire giant. Soon, soon I'll kill you and put you down like the beast you are."

The daemon engaged. Loki struck with the sword and the daemon blocked it. He brought a fist around and it connected with the side of Loki's head. Lights exploded in front of his eyes and he stumbled away, gripping the sword tightly. But the daemon was relentless and stuck again, this time hitting the frostbitten area on his side. Loki howled in pain and he swiped, blinded by his watering eyes. The sword caught the seax's blade and slid down, locked itself with the hilt and he jerked it sideways. The seax away spun away and the daemon growled. Loki brought the sword around, screaming as he drove it forward; the daemon had nothing to defend himself with and his body was wide open for attack. The sword stabbed him in the chest, punching through the armour like it was butter such was the strength behind the blow. The two of them stood there, locked together by the sword and Loki didn't know who was more surprised of the two; him or the daemon.

Loki released the handle as the daemon toppled sideways, dead. He stumbled back, falling over and he trembled as he looked at the body as it fell heavily to the ground. He felt vile, tainted, and the blood on his front from the spray the sword had thrown back dripped down his chest. The wound on his side and the blood falling in his eye from the cut on his head were forgotten. He could still feel the steel sliding through metal and flesh and he scraped his hands against the ground; he had to get it off, he had—

"Loki! Get up!"

Loki started and looked up to see Odin above him, a runestone tucked into the crook of his thumb and scanning the skies. "What—?"

"It'll be over soon! Just get inside and stay there!"

"I can fight—"

"You're a mess; you only killed that Vanir out of pure luck. Don't count on it again. Now _go_!"

Perhaps it had been the commanding tone in his voice, but Loki bolted to the door of Valaskjalf. Once inside, he slammed it shut behind him. He leaned against it, breathing heavily as he slid down the wood to sit on the floor, looking at his bloody hands.

"_You're filth, scum … a savage."_

Loki clenched his fists and felt a trickle of anger mix with his horror as he came to a simple realisation. The Vanir, whoever they were, had seen him and felt disgusted by him, if the one he had killed was anything to go by. Whatever his previous thoughts and feelings on the war were now, they were gone. It wasn't out of a want for revenge his mind changed then, but for a want of self-preservation. Whether he had meant to or not, he had firmly planted himself on the side of Odin, what with that stunt and murder of his.

_"Soon, soon I'll kill you and put you down like the beast you are."_

Loki screamed in rage; rage at the Vanir, rage at Odin for dragging him into his shit fight and rage at himself. He felt rage at his father whom he only had a fleeting memory of, at his mother who hadn't managed to escape the fire jötnar when they had attacked Midgardr eighty years prior and his father had raped her. And then he came to her after that, resulting in her sons, her cursed sons who she had not the mercy to kill—

He found his knife at his belt and drew it with a flash. Curse his blood, curse his blood! Not even daemons wanted him. The blade cut into the flesh of his arm near his left elbow and he tore it down with a scream, relishing in the pain and watching at the blood spilt from the wound. He wanted to bleed it from his system, to rid himself of his father until his eyes turned light and his pupils round. He watched, trembling as the blood gushed in a steady stream to the floor.

_I want it gone I want it gone I want it_ all _gone._

Odin had lied to him again; he would never be not able to hide from others, if not totally, then he would have to hide his jötunn side; it was no different to the lie he'd lived his whole life. And he hated them for it. Everyone who flinched from him; cursed him; wanted him to die. Himself included. How could he not hate himself?

Loki didn't notice when silence fell outside he was so wrapped up in his thoughts. He didn't notice anything until he felt the door against his back tilt as it was opened. He sprung up and backed away as Odin — with Huginn and Muninn on his shoulders — entered, flanked by five or so others, each covered in blood. Loki swiftly hid the knife and his arm, pressing a sleeve to the wound to staunch the bleeding. They must never see his self-hate; it would only give them even more power—

"Coward of a daemon," one of them growled. "Hiding in here."

"I told him to," Odin said in his defence. "He saved my life, Týr."

The man who had spoken, Týr, was a man whose features were roughly cut. He was a scarred individual, the most prominent being a brutal cut marring his right cheek just above his jawline which showed through his scrubby beard. His black hair was long and free flowing, tangled and slightly greasy looking. His light grey eyes were narrowed with dislike. He crossed his arms and glared at Loki. "Please excuse me, Allfather; I'll go and help Thor get rid of those Vanir stragglers."

He left.

Odin sighed and turned back to Loki, waving the others away. They bowed and left quickly, leaving the two of them alone in the huge hall. Loki thought of it as nothing more than a cavern. The whole place was made of fine, silvery wood, sanded down until the grain could be seen and it was as smooth as silk. The height of the ceiling was lost in the low torchlight, and he had no hope of even glimpsing the other end of the hall. The pillars were carved with beautiful knotwork, the twisting designs flowing elegantly from one form to another. Beams criss-crossed against the ceiling and between the pillars holding it up, they were decked with banners of brightly dyed wool and silk. Long wooden tables were spaced regularly throughout the hall, but scrape marks on the floor told Loki that they were moved to the walls regularly. Every twenty or thirty paces, an enormous fire pit was sunk into the floor, fresh with ash from previous nights and logs which would join them only hours later. The closest one was lined with stones and contained the dying embers of a fire.

"Your arm," Odin said.

"Oh." Loki held it up and he moved the knife further behind his back. "It … it happened outside."

He could see in his eyes he didn't believe him, and indeed they flickered to the patch of blood on the floor, but he only said to Munnin, "Go and get Eir. Tell her it's urgent." The raven spread her wings and took off, flying to the open door and disappearing through it in a dark flash. Odin turned back to Loki and said, "Keep the pressure on."

He nodded glumly, slipping the knife back into its sheath as discreetly as he could; he didn't want Odin to hear the truth he already knew from him. Loki crossed to the fire and folded his arms, gazing into the pit; he needed something to distract him, to keep himself calm. So he sought answers. "Who were they?"

Odin sighed and Loki heard his staff clacking on the stone floor as he came up behind Loki. "Remember how I said that I've seen many gods over my years? The Vanir, as they are called, are another group who hold power essentially equal to ours."

"That daemon I ... I killed," Loki said in a low voice, trembling slightly, "I ... was he the only daemon?"

"No. The Vanir are a group who are very ... proud of their bloodline; inbred to the point where they're all somehow related to one another, in fact. They're a tribe who fancy themselves deities. The first of the Vanir were like you, half daemon offspring who mostly claim ancestry from the jötnar of the north — the ice and rock jötnar. They banded together to form their tribe and they also became proud because of their 'better nature', their power from their daemon blood. This was from a time many hundreds of years ago when daemons roamed the lands more freely before the first of the Æsir, my father and his father before him, drove them away."

"'Hundreds of years ago'?" Loki asked. "Then if only three generations have passed, how old are you? Who _are_ you, even?"

"If you think you're old, then you have yet to meet me. I am over four hundred years old."

_Four hundred..._ He then said, somewhat enviably, "You're not a daemon, so how are you still alive?"

Odin chuckled. "We have our methods. And besides, don't we all have a bit of daemon blood in us?" He tapped next to his eye to illustrate the point. "Now, if you want to know who the Vanir are, I suggest you stop asking your questions about my personal matters and listen."

Loki nodded, trembling. "So then how did you even start fighting?"

"I thought you had brains. Have you ever heard of two powerful forces co-existing peacefully without treaty? No. Basic power struggles happened; that should be the logical jump even the most simple of minds would be able to take. We were bound to clash with the Vanir at some point, and that is what happened twenty-five years ago. We were arrogant, and when a witch came to our halls and sought sanctuary for the night, we granted it to her. Her name was Heiðr, a friend of the Vanir and she was boastful of her magic. She made us angry and for it we built a pyre. We tied her to it and burnt her."

Loki blinked. "That's ... mildly excessive."

"You weren't there," Odin said grimly. "She was one of the most singularly infuriating people I have ever met, or even heard of; makes you look like a rose scented fart. She screamed for the longest of times and when the fire finally died, we saw she was not dead. In fact, it was as if she had not been touched by the flames at all. 'Is that the best you can do?' she sneered. 'I dare you to burn me again'."

"And you burnt her again."

"It would have happened anyway, with or without my consent. We rebuilt the fire and burnt her again, and again, she did not die. It was then we discovered a net of runes scrawled on her palm. This was when we did not understand them in their entirety, but . We destroyed the net and once again burnt her. This time we succeeded in our task and she died. But as her body turned to ash, her essence, her vörðr—"

"Vor-what?"

"Vörðr; a ghost. Essence is shrouded within your body and what keeps you alive; your soul, to use the southern term. The vörðr is like the corpse of the essence, an imprint of an individual which is left behind at death. Going on, her vörðr went back to the Vanir and they were angry at her death; a witch is not someone to be easily replaced. And so they attacked us. We met on the field of battle and such was our arrogance we did not take it as seriously as we should have. Our first battle with them left our forces crushed. The Vanir might not have had a tactical advantage or the more superior battle strategies, but they had something we did not: magic. They slaughtered us with it and what we had in numbers counted for nothing at the end of the day. But our skills with warfare were still better than theirs, and we managed to score heavy blows to them, but they still won that battle. We had to obtain this magic for ourselves if we were to stand any chance of becoming truly victorious.

"I therefore ventured into the world to gain magic and after consulting the Norns, I found a way to seize it. I went to Yggdrasil and there, with my own spear, I hung myself on the tree for nine days and nights, a sacrifice to myself. It was then I came to the borders of death and I heard the runes whispering themselves in my ears and I grasped for their meaning. And when I fell from the World Tree, I had gained the sixteen runes of the ancient script I needed to succeed in the war."

Loki shivered; he had an image in his mind's eye of Odin driving a spear into his chest to impale himself of the trunk of an enormous tree, of the old man hanging limp and lifeless for days, muttering to himself. Loki himself had never even dreamt of taking such a drastic route to control his magic, no matter how desperate he had been once upon a time. As for stabbing himself … the thought had crossed his mind. "I thought there were twenty-four," was what he said instead.

"The other eight came to me later, teased from the stones during the war."

"So, you gained magic, and you said by gaining this magic you would be able to defeat the Vanir, but yet you still needed me. Why?"

"Because pitting myself and maybe a dozen others against hundreds of the Vanir is harder than it looks. Compared to me, though, compared to even the Vanir, your magic is like a bonfire to a candle. You're something incredible, Loki, something no one can even dream to surpass."

"Because of the mixture of my blood." His grip on his wounded arm tightened and another flash of self-hate cut across his mind.

"Aye."

The door opened and the two of them looked around. The raven Odin had sent flew back into the hall and resettled herself on Odin's shoulder; she snapped at her brother playfully.

The that had entered behind woman held a basket full of supplies on her hip, giving a low curtsy when Odin turned his gaze upon her. "Allfather."

"Lady Eir; good, you're here. My brother is hurt."

Odin looked at Loki and he felt sheepish as he dropped his bloody sleeve, exposing the cut.

The woman, Eir, clucked her tongue and set the basket down on a table. "Come here, my lord. Let me see."

He was too hurt, upset and his head swimming with so much information he forgot to protest at her use of the title. He sat down and put his arm on the table. She cleaned the wound with a bottle of clear alcohol and he squirmed as it touched the wound. She gave him a stern look as she cleaned the dried blood away with a warm, damp cloth. "You'll be lucky if you don't scar," she said. "It's deep."

"I know," Loki murmured. He didn't know if she hadn't heard or chose to ignore him, but for whatever reason, he was glad at her lack of an answer.

After cleaning the dried blood away, Eir wrapped his arm with clean white bandages. "Come to me tomorrow morning, and I'll change the bandages for you." Then she saw the frostbite on his side. She exclaimed under her breath, shaking her head at the same time. "Honestly, what next? Acid patches?" Her eyes flitted to the cut on his head, too.

Loki gave a twitch of a smile. "Only these ones."

She treated the wound above his eye first, much the same way as she had done to his arm. For his frostbite, she slathered a thick paste on the area and he was surprised to feel it was very warm. "Don't touch it until it's hardened, and it'll come off in its own time."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Eir paused in her packing up and flashed him a timid smile. "You are most welcome, my lord."

"Loki."

Her smile faltered a fraction. "I'm sorry?"

"It's not 'my lord', it's just Loki."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	3. The Æsir-Vanir War (Part Two)

**This is also called "Chapter Exposition"~**

* * *

**_The War of Gods_**

_The Æsir-Vanir War_

* * *

**THE** VANIR HOST attacked three more times within the first two weeks alone, and Loki was only just beginning to appreciate the fight Odin had been waging. He hadn't really been in any thick of the action, mainly staying by Odin's side because, as his brother said, he wasn't ready to face battle again from his lack of experience and the fact Odin said Loki would have his part to play later.

"Then what is the point," Loki asked angrily, "of bringing me here in the first place if you're just going to keep me away from everything?!"

"You're not ready yet. We can hold out for a little longer whilst you improve."

"What are you talking about? You're fighting a war, and any other person would want to end it as quickly as possible."

"Try and see sense."

"Ending it is sense!"

"If you went out there now, there is a higher chance of you being killed than there is in two months' time when you will be better."

"You brought me here to do a job, so let me do it. I'm your weapon, _remember_? Wouldn't a weapon be better afterwards when he is dead and no longer needed? So why haven't you sent me into battle where I can wreak my so called 'power' and, whilst I bring down the enemy, die a war hero?"

"Because I swore an oath you would come to no harm, and I intend to keep it that way."

Whilst Loki wasn't one who enjoyed fighting in particular, he was itching for one now. He felt intensely frustrated when Odin held him back every time, each time explaining his reasons for doing so and insisting Loki get stronger before joining the fray in the future. And so Loki had done as Odin had asked; he'd trained his body — both with swordplay and in fitness — and with his magic. His highly improved and now regular diet, even though Odin insisted it was nothing more than war rations, coupled with his activities during the day was starting to cause a change in him. He'd been lanky before, nothing more than skin and bone, but now he was putting on lean and hard muscle. Every day he could hold out longer against Týr as they clashed in the courtyard of Glaðsheimr — although he couldn't beat him yet at a fight without his self-taught flips and kicks, but he was getting closer all the time. But it was Loki's least favourite part of his days.

He was pissed Týr for the beating he had put him through for the past two weeks, three hours a day. And as a result, Loki was bruised, battered, and angry. He would have thought he would have been getting somewhere, and he felt he had personally improved, but Týr ... Týr was a man who was hard to have as a teacher and who found nothing more joyous that giving him a good walloping. They attracted a crowd as well every time they crossed their swords. They exclaimed and cried out as crowds did, but it was never in Loki's favour, he noticed. It irked him somewhat, but he couldn't help but take to it resignedly; it wasn't something new. They'd laughed at him as well when Týr put him in the dirt and pronounced him dead, and Loki had gone away to nurse his bruises as the warrior accepted the praise from the Æsir with an easy smile.

It was what had been happening for the past two hours. Loki had tried as hard as he could to best the warrior, but had ended up flat on his back to the applause of the audience yet again.

"Concentrate, damn you," Týr said with strained patience. "Don't let them get inside your head." He jerked a thumb towards the audience.

"I'm trying! I'm new to this remember? So give me a moment." Loki got back to his feet, swinging his wooden practice sword at his side in a small circle. "Can't we send them away?"

"Would you like to ask the warriors on a field to turn their backs so you can have a private fight?" Týr raised his sword, waiting for Loki to mirror him.

Loki spat on the ground and held his sword up. "Fine. Now I'm ready, so—" Týr, not waiting for him for another second, smacked him hard across the side with the flat of the wooden blade and Loki yelped in pain, scrambling away. "You hit my wound!" Despite that the treatment had almost healed it, the skin around the area was still damaged and sensitive.

"Then let's use that as a starting point. Pain is one of the greatest teachers, is it not?"

"Whatever. Slower, this time."

"If we go slowly, you'll never learn how to do this properly at higher speeds. We go fast, or not at all."

Týr lunged and Loki, who hadn't quite recovered yet, didn't block with the sword but instead did the first instinctual thing to him: he ducked. He spun, intending to trip Týr over his legs, but the man jumped over Loki's swipe and, when he landed, kicked him under the jaw with his shin. Loki bit his tongue as he was sent skidding backwards, swearing colourfully as he straightened up clumsily. Týr, ever fast, tucked the point of his sword under Loki's chin; the point pressed uncomfortably into the bump of his throat. The crowd applauded again and Loki felt his temper rising.

"And that is why you never resort to self-taught tricks to get out of the way of an enemy, because you never know what he'll do and you will give him the height advantage to stab you in the back."

"It's worked well enough for me in the past." Loki spat a glob of blood out of his mouth.

"Does this look like the past to you? Because it sure doesn't to me."

"I was going off the principle that a faster moving target is harder to hit than one that stays pretty much still."

"If there's one thing you're not, it's a rabbit. Hop around again, and I will not be happy."

"You're never happy," Loki grumbled. He rubbed his jaw, fighting the eye-watering pain from his tongue and picked up his sword from the ground.

Týr smirked. "Feet apart, shoulder width at the least. If you want a good firm base to push from, place one foot back so—"

"I know, I know," Loki snarled. Despite the fast pace they were setting, and the fact he spent more time on the ground than on his feet, he was learning; he wasn't stupid. Týr had refused to take Loki through nothing more than the basic steps for fighting with the wooden sword and insisted at cracking the blades against each other with nothing more than utter brutality. He'd been criticised from everything from his grip to his stance to even his want to hit Týr's sword edge on edge with his own. And it was wearing both of their patiences thin.

"I guess you'll just have to see the results for yourself if you insist on doing it that way," Týr had said, giving up after several days of Loki's refusal to change the action through a mixture of his want to get more of a bite from the weapon and if only to get a little payback.

"I'm ready," Loki said flatly, holding his sword up.

Týr launched into action at once, swinging his sword around high and Loki took a step back and caught the blade on his own. He shoved Týr away by pressing the palm of his left hand on the blade's flat and pushing away. He pushed hard, and it sent Týr stumbling back a few paces. Loki advanced, twirling the sword in a small circle at his side before smashing it against Týr's own weapon, a snarl on his face. Týr was beating a retreat now as Loki continued to make ground, having too much speed for Týr to effectively slow down. Loki hit the edge of his blade against Týr's — which produced a noise of frustration from the man — before he slid his weapon down Týr's and locked them at the hilt. He jerked the sword away and it clattered to the ground, and then he sprang up. He wrapped his legs around Týr's neck and brought him to the floor with a _thud_ and placed the wooden blade against his throat. The crowd was still as the two men struggled on the ground, stunned.

Loki felt very smug as he pulled Týr's head into the crock of his knee to lock it in place — _Let them sit on_ this _for a while._ "So, what do you think of my 'self-taught skills' then?"

"Relying solely on your strength and agility is never a good thing," Týr said. He shoved Loki off of himself with surprising ease and rose. "Like it or not, there is always someone who will be stronger than you, faster than you and when you meet them and you rely too much on that skill set—" Týr whipped out a dagger from his belt and held it to Loki's neck so fast he didn't have time to comprehend the act "—then you are well and truly dead, no questions asked."

"But if I manage to outsmart them—" Loki rammed his heel into Týr's foot and the warrior took his knife away in reaction to the pain "—then no matter how limited my skill set is, I will always find a way to win."

Týr shook his head, treading lightly on injured foot. "You're going to die, then."

"Are we done?" Loki snapped. "Odin's waiting for me."

Not waiting for an answer, he threw his sword down and stalked away to titters from the crowd. He was angry at them, too, how they laughed at his misfortunes. He shoved his way through the onlookers and walked stiffly back to his quarters. He took a towel from the corner of the yard with a flourish and wiped his face and the back of his neck. Now he also had regular baths, he could feel the sweat on his body and smell its odour. It surprised him now how it bothered him, and he was grateful for the pitcher of water that had been left in his room when he returned to it. He removed the metal and leather vambraces, stripped himself of his shirt and threw them to the bed. He crossed to the mirror and paused, examining the new bruises covering his body, including the one across his side from Týr's wooden blade. After mapping them out, he took a moment longer to see the change to his body. It felt odd to see the weight and the muscles he had gained after only two weeks. Although it was nowhere near to what some of the Æsir had, Loki still felt pleased with himself all the same. Dragging his eyes away, he picked up the pitcher full of water and poured it into its matching metal basin, splashing it on his face. Its cool temperature was blissful and he scrubbed himself quickly before he pulled on a new shirt, the sleeves cut at the shoulder. He went to the door, but a glint of gold caught his eye from the corner of the room. He went to it. It was the armlet that had been given to him on the first day.

Loki twisted it between his fingers, a frown pinching at his face. He took the time to really examine it, now. The four gold, woven bands were thick and connected smoothly so that he couldn't find a join in the metal. Each strip was etched with runes, the spiralling marks cut so finely into the metal he stood for several moments following them, tracing his fingers over them. Smiling slightly, he slipped onto his upper left arm where it rested cold against his skin. He snorted softly to himself as he refastened the vambraces and exited the room.

He tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible as he exited Glaðsheimr, keeping his head low as people walked past him. Many of them had been in the courtyard and he heard a snigger or two from some of them. But all the same, they still greeted him with somewhat stiff nods, something he knew was happening simply because of his connection to Odin.

He made quick progress to Valaskjalf, finishing his climb to the hall in a few minutes and throwing the doors open. He left them open and walked to the end of the hall to a throne of fine ash wood which was raised upon a dais. It was carved with runes and designs of a tree. He didn't pay much heed to the throne, as grand as it was. He went through a door on the left, the smells of a summer garden coming to his nose. He lingered for a few seconds to draw in another deep sniff before walking through it. It was in full bloom, and, as many gardens in Asgard seemed to do, ignored the seasons; where the leaves should be brown and dying, here they were a rich green. Flowers bloomed from bushes and beds and Loki could hear the low buzzes of insects. The path he walked down was made of smooth granite. On the other side of the garden was an extension of Valaskjalf, a huge wing which housed Odin's study. Loki came to the door, paused, and then knocked before entering.

The place was huge, light and smelt of old parchment, ink, sanded wood and herbs to cover the odour of animals. The room was at least a hundred fifty paces wide, each wall filled with shelves all stacked with books. A balcony ran around the room, the shelves there also full of books. The leather spines were lettered with gold runes and Loki ran his eye over them; although it took a while, he could make out some of the letters, and even the words. Furniture was arranged artfully through the room, tables and chairs made of mahogany and sporting instruments, weapons, books and art.

"Loki; you're early."

Loki looked up to Odin. He was standing behind a huge desk made of rich wood, piled high with books and scrolls. A set of runestones was gathered in a dish on the table, but these were merely for fortune telling; river stones carved with the runes. Floor to ceiling windows made the wall behind the desk, giving a view over Asgard and the surrounding plains. A perch of gold was stood behind the desk and upon it were Huginn and Muninn, sitting peacefully and looking at Loki intently. On either side of the desk were two enormous daemon wolves, their fur a stony grey and with huge paws. They stirred at Loki's arrival, but settled themselves back down when they saw him.

"Týr and I finished early," Loki mumbled.

"I see. Sit, then." Odin gestured to a chair in front of the desk and Loki climbed the steps leading to it. He winced as he sat, the bruises across his body pulling.

"Can you tell Týr to stop smashing me into the ground every day?" grumbled Loki, who had perched gingerly on the edge of the chair.

Odin chuckled. "Whilst he may be harsh, Týr is an efficient teacher."

"I don't want to talk about swords; I'm tired, so can we just hurry this up?"

"Impatient as always."

Odin sat himself down and pushed towards Loki a piece of parchment, a quill and ink bottle. The parchment was already marked with Loki's work from yesterday, his scratchy and messy writing decorating a few inches of the top of the page.

"We'll continue where we left off yester—"

But Loki's already taut patience was wearing thin; he was done with feeling like he wasn't making any progress in anything. "Six weeks we've been doing this," he said. He crossed his arms, glaring at Odin and refusing to pick up the quill. "Six weeks and you still refuse to teach me how to cast even a simple flame. I thought you were teaching me how to use magic, not to write about it."

"You think you're ready to cast it?" Odin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I can only study scratches for so long, _Allfather_," he said with a bite of venom.

Odin smiled. "Fine. Have it your way."

Loki blinked; he'd been expecting a fight.

Odin only took out the pouch of runestones he used for magic casting and opened the neck. He then tipped it upside down and spilt them onto the table. "Pick up _Kaun_."

Loki found it within a heartbeat. Its orange light illuminated the rough surface and he plucked it into his palm. "Have I passed your little test?" Loki said. "If this is a question on whether or not I can't recognise the runes or something—"

"It's not; it's a warm up." Odin sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together, looking out across Asgard. "If you want to cast magic, be my guest."

"How?"

"Look at the stone and feel it in your hand, truly feel it and recognise that power trapped within. Only once you recognise that will you be able to shape it to your will."

Loki rolled his eyes and lay it flat in his palm. He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing.

_Feel it._

Yes, there was something … a humming.

"Take the magic gently, hold it within your mind and let it breathe through you. Coax it to your will, and then release it."

The magic sputtered from him, a weak spark and Loki gasped with surprise as he felt a tearing sensation in his chest. He opened his eyes, looking down his shirt as lines, dark grey and jagged, made their way across his skin. They looked like cracked ice and stopped when they made a circle no wider than his thumb. But as small as the area was, it still hurt, and it hurt a lot. He whimpered and jumped up, staring. "What the fuck is this, old man?!"

"The first time always hurts the most."

"What are they?!"

"It's backlash; your magic has to come from somewhere, doesn't it? Magic feeds off of your essence, and the results are those lines; _Hugrjóta_."

"'The breaking of essence'," Loki said, using a very rough translation of the word.

"Exactly. As I said before, common magic uses essence as its source of power. Nothing that can't be restored by powerful magic, but all the same, make sure they never grow _too_ unruly." Odin entwined his fingers and said, very quietly, "You may be powerful, but it doesn't mean your magic cannot kill you; remember that."

"It can kill me?"

"Yes. If the Hugrjóta grow too big — if you use too much of your essence — you cannot live. Your body just gives up."

"Why hasn't this happened to me before?" Loki said, rubbing the lines.

"Because the magic you have used up until this point is Elder magic."

"Elder magic?" Loki asked, blinking his incomprehension.

"There are many different types of magic in this world, common magic — which is what this is — seiðr, divination, casting … the list continues. Elder magic is is the most ancient, and whilst it is very powerful, it is … difficult to control. Very few who wield it can keep it under their command. Your fire is Elder magic, and whilst is does not leave physical traces, it leaves something else in its wake."

"What?" Loki said in a low voice.

"Addiction. Elder magic is a drug, and it tears people apart. That's why it is so rare. Parts of the worlds still have Elder magic, but it is wild. It can be bound, but it is so by only the most daring." Odin sighed and rubbed his temples. "It is why it's so important to teach you to control your Elder magic. You can feel it, can't you? That addiction."

"What addiction?" Loki swallowed.

"Your anger is your addiction; it brings the fire forth. You crave it so you can feel the rush; it makes you feel good, doesn't it?"

Loki didn't answer. Yes, it felt good when he lost his temper, when he felt such blinding rage, storming emotions of anger and lust and sorrow such that the pain he felt in his chest was bliss. And it frightened him sometimes, but it felt so very, very _good_.

"Go to Iðunn, she will heal you," Odin said, rising from his seat and bringing Loki from his thoughts.

"Heal me?"

"Your essence. It needs to be healed just like your body does. It's harder, but it can be done." Odin sat back and said, "Do you want to continue?"

Loki nodded.

"Very well."

They continued working with the _Kaun_ rune that afternoon, and by the end of it, Loki hurt on a deeper level than when Týr had been training with him; it was an aching hurt in his chest. He had continued to experiment with finding the magic in the runestones until he could locate and use the energy within a space of a second. He was still learning to use the fire. He had commanded a guttering flame before, and now he controlled a bright, snapping fire cupped in his palm which could be manipulated at the slightest twitch of his will.

"I could master this in no time if I continue my progress like this," he said, playing with the fire absently and watching it lick over his skin.

"Fire comes easily to you because of your nature; other aspects of magic won't come so quickly."

Loki let the flame go out and he felt proud of himself nevertheless; it was the first time he had been able to control any sort of fire. That thought led onto his other daemonic attributes. "Could I learn how to hide my eyes?"

"You could, but why the interest now?"

Loki crossed his arms, addressing them as he said quietly, "Because I don't want to be cast out. Over the past few weeks … it hasn't been easy, especially since I'm not covering them anymore."

"You wish for your blindfold back?"

Loki nodded.

"You're meeker than I thought, deep down."

"I'm n—"

"It's your human side; your mother's side. You want to belong to the Æsir."

Loki clamped his jaw shut, fighting the stinging remark he longed to hurl at the Allfather back. How dare he speak of Laufey? And Odin had promised him somewhere he could belong, but yet he was holding it back, making Loki bite the gag and take it; but he was sick of taking it.

Odin's eyes darkened. "I know that look, Loki, but please, make no mistakes here. I will teach you how to cast glamours, but my advice to you on this matter is this: I wouldn't use them for your eyes around Asgard. It's another barrier which you must overcome. I want you to be comfortable with who you are, brother, I don't want you to be hiding behind lies. You need to build a reputation if you want people to stop thinking of you as they are currently. Show them your strength, and they will not challenge you."

Loki nodded again, this time stiffly.

"Good. Now, go to Iðunn and ask for an apple. I'll see you for the evening meal."

Odin stood to leave.

"Hold on," Loki said, rising suddenly.

Odin stopped. "Yes?"

"That night, the night we met. When you asked about my father."

"What about it?"

"You charmed me, didn't you? I didn't want to tell you that and what came after it, but I did anyway."

Odin sighed. "You're too damn perceptive for your own good, sometimes. Yes, I charmed you."

"You had no right—!"

"You wouldn't have talked, and the best way to building bridges is by talking. If I hadn't charmed you, none of this would have happened; you would have still been scraping by in just another village, making a living by stealing yet more wallets. Do not think on my decision with anger; think of it as a cruel kindness."

Loki didn't say a word as Odin continued onto the door. The wolves and ravens followed their master, leaving the daemon man alone in the sunlit study with his bubbling thoughts. The confession bothered him on a deeper level than he cared to admit, and his hatred about being looked down upon entered new regions; even his blood brother did it. Damn them! If there was only some— And then, he smiled suddenly; of course, the solution was simple; he knew what he had to do to get the others to see him on their level. He got up and left Valaskjalf; he needed to find the armoury, and he needed the Vanir to attack.

* * *

#

* * *

**_THIS _**_WOULD BE the first time he dreamt of her; of her face; of her beauty; of her scream. She was beautiful in a strangely ethereal way; her pale skin shining in the low light and it rendered her skin supernaturally flawless, but it gave her an eerie look. Her dress, made of flowing white silks, was torn and bloodied; the red stood out sharply, unnaturally so. And all the while she screamed, fighting some invisible force that held her back, tore at the wavy white hair which fell to her knees like pure starlight. Her grey eyes cried her panic and confusion._

_He wanted to comfort her, wanted to go to her and tell her everything was alright, but he couldn't. He struggled towards her, but he was held like she was and a soundless yell ripped from his own throat. He could feel it thrumming through his being, begging to be heard, but he only heard her shrieks. It tore at his heart in a way he couldn't understand, hurt his chest to an impossible degree as he fought for a woman he had never seen before. But what frightened his sleeping mind was how real his desperation was, how he couldn't dismiss this as merely a dream._

_And then he heard the laughter, the cruel, pitiless laughter that filled his ears, filled his very being but no matter how loud it got, it could never entirely drown the woman's terrible screams. Figures rose around him, shadowy figures who were merely shapes against the light and they circled him, jeering and howling and thundering words. The soft hiss of a snake floated amongst the crowd._

_He ignored them all, struggling towards the woman and, to his horror, she was beginning pulled back from him, shrinking away and he fought towards her with renewed vigour, but the shadowy figures wouldn't let him get to her. He screamed at them for as long and as loud as he could, but he was still mute. The voices of the shadowy figures were unravelling, becoming intelligible sounds and their words chilled him._

_"Traitortraitortraitortraitortraitor."_

_And he could also hear the woman's screams, and they came to him as one long, drawn out cry of misery and pain and terror that gripped his heart in agony:_

_"LOKI!"_

* * *

#

* * *

**LOKI** JERKED AWAKE, hating the tears pricking his eyes and his throat felt raw; had he screamed here as well as in his dream? But no one had come to him, because they were screaming too. Something he had been silently hoping for. He grimaced and stood up, still fully dressed, from his bed. He wore a light shirt of chainmail and his vambraces on his arms; these things were his only armour. He reached for the sword he'd been given yesterday by Asgard's best armourer and burst from the room as he tied his hair into a tail. It was dawn and he could hear the whole of Asgard stirring at the disturbance.

"My lord!" He whirled around, hissing with annoyance to see the serving maid Odin had assigned to him running up the corridor of Glaðsheimr, her skirts swishing around her feet. She saw his battle attire and her eyes widened in alarm. "You must go to the Allfather!"

Loki snapped instead, "He brought me here for a job, and damn him, it's going to be one I'm going to fulfil. I am sick of being woken at dawn every second day by those Vanir fuckers!"

She flinched at the use of his language and tone. "Please, my lord—"

"Don't call me that," Loki snarled and she visibly quailed under his withering look. "And tell Odin he can stuff his orders up his arse. I'm fighting this time, whether he likes it or not. Tell him I took his advice."

"My—"

But he was gone, running up the corridor and flying from the doors of Glaðsheimr half a minute later. He could see the Vanir attacking from the air as they had always done and he gave an animalistic snarl, curling his hands around the hilt of his sword. "Come get me, you bastards." The first attack was still burnt into his mind's eye, and the pain from the mostly healed frostbite and from the self-inflicted cut were at the front of his mind; they were at fault for both.

His common magic was not good enough yet to be warrant for use of battle, so he charged into the street with nothing but his sword and his reflexes. He ran to Valaskjalf, ignoring the terrified Æsir as they ran for safety in the opposite direction. When he arrived at the courtyard, it was utter Chaos. Týr was there, hacking at the Vanir with a huge broadsword in one hand and a shield in the other. Beside him was a huge man with red hair and a short beard and daemon eyes. He roared at the Vanir as they charged him and he cut them down with a weapon Loki had never seen before; a double-headed axe. They were an effective team, guarding the other's back as they fought the advancing Vanir. Týr's skill with his sword sent the Vanir toppling to the ground one after the other, the surprising finesse with which he used the huge and awkward weapon admirable. Two quick strikes was all it took to dispatch each foe before he would duck behind his shield. But the man behind Týr, the one with the axe, provided a different tactic. His fighting style of not neat, but one of brute force. But it was effective. His huge strength sent the Vanir flying, sliced to pieces from the axe.

"Come on!" he bellowed. "Is that all you have?!"

_Well, then, I'll add myself to the mix and see if that meets his expectations._

Loki charged into the fray, jumping over a fallen body in a neat flip and then springing onto the shoulders of one of the Vanir coming behind Týr, stabbing the man in between his shoulders. The man crumpled. Loki landed, trembling; he did his best to ignore the death, but he couldn't stop the bile rising in the back of his throat.

"What are you doing?!" Týr roared at him. "We're fine! Don't interfere!"

Loki gave a low hiss before he swung around and slashed at one of the other Vanir, trying his best to distract himself. His blood was singing with anger and he could feel himself coming to the edge, could feel his fire building in his chest; he was so close to that blissful, mind-numbing state…. He screamed, swinging around and eyeing the Vanir flatly, daring them to come and fight him. But they stayed away, seemingly waiting.

Another young man landed in the courtyard and the Vanir let loose a cheer as he straightened up. This new Vanr had wavy blonde hair which was thick and touched his shoulders. Feathers were bound in it, falcon feathers, Loki thought. He carried a beautiful sword, something with a handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl and the blade shimmered like starlight. His scaled armour was of the same high quality. A light splashing of freckles covered his fair and handsome face. But Loki hated the sight of him. Thoughts of the first attack flashed across his mind again, of the daemon with the same light hair and sharp cheekbones. Loki snarled and the Vanr found his face, his own daemon eyes narrowing.

"So, you're the fire giant Odin took in a few weeks ago, I presume," he said. His voice would have been light and pleasant if it hadn't been dripping with venom.

"And I assume you're the piece of shit who's going to end up on my sword," Loki said. He stalked forward, ignoring Týr as he yelled at him to come back.

The Vanr scoffed. "You, who are barely trained, kill me? I saw you fighting before and you … you fight with inexperience, you fight like a child."

"Barely trained, maybe," Loki growled, doing his best to sound intimidating, "inexperienced too, and someone who still shies from death, but someone who can do a lot of damage with his wrath."

And the fire came forth unbidden, now. It was a blessed relief to let it free and he felt a rush of a savage delight as the flames spilt from his chest, encircling his arms and burning in his hair; it and his clothes fluttered in the resultant breeze. He laughed as he swung his sword around in a small circle by his side to hide his tremor of fear. "Fight me. Fight the thing you find to be dirt," he spat in the Old Language.

The Vanr raised a hand and Loki knew what was coming before the magic had left his palm. He dodged the nimbus green blast with plenty of time, swaying like a willow reed as he ran forward. His sword flashed as he jumped up, spinning. Barely trained he might have been, but had an advantage on his side which he hoped with all his might worked: he had a truly unique style of fighting. Flames jumped from his skin as he hacked and slashed at the Vanr. He either caught Loki's strikes on his sword, or he moved out of the way. Loki was pleased to note that the arrogant smirk which had graced his face before seemed to have vanished.

Loki swung his sword around and the Vanr caught it on the flat of his own blade; Loki's sword rung in his hand and he grit his teeth.

"Loki! Disengage!"

Loki ignore Týr's shout and brought his sword away with a flourish. As he went to stab again, the Vanr acted. He threw the rubble from the runestone he had used before into Loki's face and he stumbled away, blinded and lashing wildly out. The whole thing began to unravel from there. The Vanr kneed Loki in the stomach and he doubled over, winded. His sword flew from his grip as the Vanr hit it and he forced Loki to his knees. He grabbed his hair in a fist and pulled his head up before slipping his sword under Loki's chin.

"You're a fool to think you can hold your own against me," the man said triumphantly.

Loki snarled, struggling as the fire built and the Vanr rolled his eyes before bringing out another runestone. Loki gasped as his fire was doused with a spurt of water and he sat, dripping and shivering with cold.

"Don't try anything else, or I'll slit your throat." He turned to the Vanir and said, "Take him back to father; we can end this war quickly now we have Odin's precious eldjötunn."

Loki was shoved to another of the Vanir and he was kneed in the stomach yet again. This in itself wasn't anything new to him, but there was so much more power behind it than anything else he had received before, he momentarily blacked out.

The Vanr prowled in front of him, grinning. "You hear that, swordmaster? Odinson? This war will end tonight with our victory, unless your Allfather wants to sacrifice his own blood brother and give him up as a bad investment." The man sauntered forwards, spitting at the ground by Týr's feet and smiling. "Lay your weapons down, and you will live."

"You will live in turn if you let Loki go," Týr said threateningly.

"You think to threaten me?" the man said. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course," Týr said, "which why I was hoping we could come to a compromise."

Týr acted so quickly Loki didn't see it. Seconds later, the man had been disarmed and was under Týr's power, the swordmaster's hands gripping his head so that one twist would end his life. The Vanir around Loki bristled and the one holding him pressed his seax deeper into Loki's throat; a line of blood trickled down his neck.

"Let the Lord go!" they howled.

"I will let him go when you let Loki go," Týr said.

Nobody moved and Týr smiled, retightening his grip on the man. "I thought so. Two hostages, each so important to the other side. A brother for one, a son for the other. Now, here is my compromise: met us at Valaskjalf at noon with your decision: leave your prince in our hands and we will leave Loki in yours, or we can trade our hostages and be done with this. Forever. We swear we will not harm Freyr if you swear not to harm Loki. I'll leave you to it, and I hope for both of our sakes we see you at noon."

No one said anything.

"Don't come!" the daemon howled to the Vanir. "Keep fighting without me! We can win this war now, win it!"

"Oh, shut up, _feathers_," Týr growled. "Say one more word and you'll regret it."

"You've sworn you won't harm me!"

"I haven't, actually. But not to worry, I expect they'll return Loki as bruised and bloodied as you will be when we return you, provided that is the intention?"

The silence stretch on until one of the Vanir said, "Of … of course."

"So, you fuckers are all sick of fighting, then?" Loki snapped. "That's good, because I'm sick of this stupid war after two weeks; now if you could put me down, I'd really appre—" He yelped as the person holding him tugged on his hair.

"Your tongue is filthy as your blood," the Vanr holding him hissed. "Does Odin stoop so low to have to go to you, eldjötunn, to clear his troubles?" The blade cut deeper into Loki's neck.

"At least he didn't have to stoop as low as to ask for something like you for their help," Loki said. "That would have been very embarrassing for you."

The Vanr hit him on the side of the head for this last remark and Loki blacked out.

* * *

#

* * *

**_THE_**_ WOMAN STOOD with her back to him, her long hair blowing gently in an unfelt wind. She turned to him almost at once, smiling brightly._

_"Love."_

* * *

#

* * *

**A** BUCKET OF freezing water to his face woke him. He gasped, shivering as he opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed were the tight cuffs on his wrists and the heavy collar around his neck. The second was the leather and metal bit in his mouth. He twisted against the chains violently and tried to spit the bit out of his mouth, but it was clamped so tightly at the back of his head and over his tongue he could make only the barest of sounds. Loki was in a canvas tent, and sunlight shone through the opening gap off to his right. The inside was bare but for a wooden stake driven into the ground at its centre to which he was chained. Noise came from all around outside; talking, weapons clattering and the tramping of many booted feet.

"The beast awakens," a cold voice said.

Loki saw from the corner of his eye a man standing next to him. Loki only saw to his mid-thigh. He would have dearly liked to say back, "That's what generally happens when you receive a bucket of water to the face" but the bit rendered him unable to speak. He gave a quiet growl, though.

He was kicked in the side savagely. "Act like a feral dog and you'll be treated as such, _Ás_."

The chain attached to the collar around his neck was jerked upwards, forcing him to raise his head. The man who towered over him was unmistakably Vanir, what with those daemon eyes. His armour shone brilliantly in the low light, his vambraces and greaves just as bright as the ring-mail and leather jerkin he wore. His greying blonde hair was scraped back into a long tail which came to the small of his back, and his face, whilst it was handsome, didn't have the same beauty as he'd seen in the other Vanir; what could be seen from underneath the oiled beard was craggy.

But it was the way the man addressed him as Æsir that really got on his nerves. _I'm not Æsir!_ Loki screamed in his mind. _I'm just Odin's tool that has no right to be called such a thing as_ mighty _as Æsir! Apparently, I'm not worth it!_

The daemon's mouth twitched in a leering smile. "The hate in your eyes is remarkable, eldjötunn, but that's not something new to your kind, is it?"

Loki's shoulders clenched.

"My lord," a new voice said, "it is almost time."

"Yes, of course." The daemon looked behind Loki and clicked his fingers at the people outside his vision. "You two, take the beast and make sure you hold him tight; the bugger's strong."

Steam rolled off of him in waves such was his anger and soon he was dry again.

The Vanr gave a low laugh. "Look at you, unable to hide your heritage. How ashamed you must be of it."

That mark hit too close to home and he lunged sideways. He was jerked back by the collar and he toppled to the ground, unable to push himself up with his hands and unable to spring to his feet now that the Vanir on either side of him had tightened their grips on his chains, keeping him grounded. The older Vanr grabbed with one hand the front of his shirt, pulling him up roughly and the other sought the chain of the bit and pulled at it. It was already stretching the sides of his mouth back, and so Loki cried out in pain as the metal cut into his skin; blood trickled down the sides of his mouth.

"Well, then, act the dog."

Loki fixed the Vanr's eyes with his own and said, as best he could around the bit, "Fuck you."

Another pull, another stab of pain. "I'm a bit disappointed that's the best you can come up with; I was told you'd be excellent to have a verbal sparring match with, dog."

When Loki made no attempt to say anything else, the Vanr let the chain at the back of his head go. Loki coughed, glad for some of the slack given back to him.

"Now, then," he continued, straightening his jerkin, "time to go and meet the Allfather."

He left and Loki was pulled along unceremoniously behind the Vanr. He twisted and thrashed, fighting against the Vanir holding him with all his might, but they only held on, jerking him forward.

The sunlight outside shone through the mist and he hissed, screwing his eyes shut at the weak light and the Vanir took the opportunity to haul him along. Loki stumbled, almost fell, but righted himself at the last second. His toes dug into the muddy earth as he straightened himself up. Oh, he was _furious_. Fire leapt along his fingertip and he brought his hands up to one of the chains at his neck. The metal grew hot, flames licking along it and he was jerked along, shouts rising as the links began to glow orange. People leapt onto him, trying to pry his hands away, but it was with a final _snap_ that the chains grew soft enough to break.

Loki kicked up, grabbing the other chain in both hands and yanking it out of the other Vanr's grip. He wrenched the bit from his mouth, gasping at the freedom and he threw the mangled metal to the ground. "You sons of bitches!" he screeched. "Chaining me like some damn animal!"

He wished for his sword as five Vanir came at him. Loki jumped up, flipping head over heels as he took the chain up in his hands and snapped it through the air like a whip. It caught one of the Vanr around the face and he staggered back as Loki landed. He snarled as the others held up runestones, surrounding him on all sides and casting their spells. A flash of gold light and Loki froze, unable to breathe, unable to move even his eyes.

The older Vanr came forward and grabbed his throat, delighting in Loki's inability to help himself. "I had hoped we could have done this in an easier way," he murmured, "but I can see the idea was foolish. What is a diplomatic hand over to a savage like yourself, you eldjötunn bastard?"

He was kicked in the chest and the spell was loosened. Loki gulped a lungful of air as he was sent away, sprawling. His muscles were stiff, almost impossible to move, and it was a fight to draw breath, but it was better than it had been a few seconds before, at least.

The Vanr grabbed his face, twisting his head around to look him in the eye. "Do as we command, and we will not hand you over as an unconscious sack of meat."

"Is that … really … any better than chains?" Loki said, fighting to talk through his locked jaw. "I'd rather … be unconscious … than to be handed … over like a … muzzled bitch. And so … pray tell me … who are the actual … dogs here?"

"You surprise me," the Vanr said, eyebrow raised. "I must say, I'm impressed, considering your blood. An intelligent savage." He turned. "You, fix those chains. We're going to be late as it is because of this … _giant_." He spat at Loki's face.

Loki was immobilised once again as the chains were mended with magic and a bindrune of _Eh_, _Nauðr_ and _Úr_ was carved into the collar and manacles with a flick of the wrist. He felt the metal constricting around his throat, cutting off his windpipe to such an extent he had to breathe through his mouth to get enough air. His feet this time were also chained, but he was grateful at least that the bit did not go back in his mouth. Dried blood coated the inside of his mouth at the corners.

"Now move."

His steps were hindered by the chains, but he came quietly this time, simmering. He hadn't the strength to try for another escape.

They walked in silence along a rocky path, and it was after maybe a half hour that the road gave way to Asgard's grassy plain, the green soft between his toes. It was wet with dew and it irritated Loki's skin after a while. He didn't complain, however, only gritted his teeth as it hissed against his ankles. Heimdallr's hall, Himmelberget, was the first to come into view at the edge of the Bifröst site, and then Asgard itself blossomed from the mist. It was a poor sight indeed. Its wall lay broken and crumbling, huge blocks of stone ripped from it and lay, scattered around the field. In some parts the wall was missing, and Loki began to wonder about the attack the previous night, how big it was compared to the smaller ones he had experienced before. Or was it all the others had led to this final moment? Many of Asgard's stone halls and houses, keeps and watchtowers and roads and statues were damaged in some form or another. Loki could still see fires being fought within the city.

_Yes, most definitely a big attack last night._

"Like it, eldjötunn?" the Vanr breathed. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Well, you certainly gave them the opportunity to redecorate," Loki said considerately. "But in answer to your question, I can't really see what you mean."

Before the ruined gates stood Heimdallr, still in full battle armour and his gleaming sword in hand. His daemon eyes flitted from face to face before resting on Loki. He did his best to hold his head high, though, and gave the cockiest smile he could in the current situation. He could see the deep dislike Heimdallr had for him, and it was because of that he acted so.

"Gatekeeper Heimdallr," the Vanr said, striding forward and giving a short bow, "may we enter the … grand city of Asgard?"

"For diplomacy only, may you enter," Heimdallr said, his voice deeper than usual. "And be assured, Loki will not go unpunished for trying to escape when Freyr has been so co-operative."

"It's called a wildfire nature, Heimdallr," Loki jeered as he was shoved past. "Surely you would want to escape as well when they put a bit in your mouth?"

Heimdallr ignored him.

Asgard was silent as they walked up towards Valaskjalf, but Loki spotted the Æsir people peering out from within their homes, watching the small party of Vanir and himself making their way through their streets. Loki, every time he found a set of eyes looking at him, resolutely looked forward, but his eyes continued to slide around him. What did they think of him? Did they think of him as a savage? Something that should be put to the sword because of what he was and what he had done? Or did they thinking something else because of his actions, and his capture, it paved a road to the close of a twenty-five year war?

He was panting at the end of the climb, and he stood as straight as he could when the ground levelled out, wheezing from the throttling collar.

Then, to his utmost surprise, the elder Vanr said, "Take the collar off, and the chains upon his feet."

Loki gasped for breath as the collar was removed, rolling his neck to the side gratefully; he didn't express his thanks verbally, though. He was marched forward to Valaskjalf's door where a woman waited for them. She was small, her face heart shaped, and her honey blonde hair was held back from her face by a golden band which rested behind her ears.

"Greetings to the Vanir," she said, giving a long and deep curtsy. "I am Fulla Siyerdöttir, handmaiden to the Lady Frigg. Please, come this way."

She didn't look at Loki. Fulla ordered the doors open with a sweep of her hand and she, followed by Loki and maybe ten of the Vanir party, entered. Loki looked around. Valaskjalf, whilst it had never been exactly dirty, glimmered after a thorough scrubbing, such that the leather boots of the Vanir squeaked against the flagstones as they walked. The firepits had been swept of ash and the banners beaten of dust. A thrice entwined triangle, the Valknut, as Loki had been told, glinted with gold thread in the light of the sun as it shone through the open doors.

Along the sides of the hall stood the nobles of Asgard, higher than the already high. Precious jewels and metals flashed at throats and wrists, silks fluttered in the slight wind and bight colours jumped from every corner. They all inclined their heads towards the Vanir party and they returned the gestures, if somewhat stiffly. Loki, again, did nothing; he only strode down the hall with little interest for anything other than the official Æsir party at the end of the hall.

At its forefront was Odin. He wore the most magnificent battle armour Loki had ever seen: gold ringmail tumbled from his shoulders to his knees, the section upon his chest hidden by a bright breastplate upon which a tree, matching the one upon Valaskjalf's door, was a raised relief upon the metal. Greaves and vambraces covers his legs and arms respectively, each of these also wrought with exquisite detail. His fine boots went to his knees, the brown leather polished to perfection. Over this, however, lay a snow white cloak, edged and collared with matching wolf fur. In his hand was a spear which looked too ceremonious for battle such was its delicate features. On either side of his throne sat Huginn and Muninn, and at his feet lay his giant wolves, Geri and Freki. He really did look like an Allfather, Loki thought, nothing like the old man he had sneered at upon the roadside mere weeks ago.

Next to him sat a woman garbed in flowing emerald silks which marched with Odin's armour surprisingly well. A heavy golden chain lay across her hips as a belt from which a set of gilded keys hung and a heavy collar of white gold encircled her neck. This must have been Odin's wife, Frigg. Frigg was a regal women; her wavy, red-blonde hair was piled into an exquisite knot upon the top of her head, the rest of it falling down to her back and plaited with shimmering gold thread. The skin around her eyes was becoming crinkled with age and Loki put her at around forty-five years. She would have been absolutely beautiful at one point, but her round face had gained wrinkles and it was beginning to sag somewhat slightly. Her eyebrows were plucked and her lashes made dark with kohl, highlighting her intelligent blue-green eyes.

Odin stood as the Vanir came to a halt in front of the throne. "I bid a warm welcome to you, Lord Njorðr," he said. "My welcome extends also to the rest of the Vanir who grace my hall with their presence."

Loki was already bored with the formalities. He bounced on the balls of his feet, itching to get the manacles off his hands and to get as far away from the Vanir as possible; he was sick of being their bitch. He looked up and found the Vanr hostage at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne, also cuffed with Týr standing a close watch behind him. He looked stonily at Loki and Loki looked at him with the same amount of dislike. If it weren't for that sack of shit, Loki wouldn't have been here. He lifted his lip, flashing his teeth and the Vanr only raised an eyebrow in return. The message was clear. Loki gave the smallest shrug.

"This war has been going on for far too long," Odin was saying. "Over a misunderstanding."

"Perhaps a misunderstanding to you," the older Vanr said, arms crossed defiantly, "but to us, it was murder."

"And how many people on both sides have been murderer in this war, now? Thousands, surely."

The Vanr said nothing.

Odin went for the throat. "The spilt blood of one has turned into the spilt blood of ten thousand over twenty-five long years of hate, suffering, pain and death. If that is not enough to satisfy your loss, if that is not enough to remind you of the loses you have suffered as a people, then we will meet on the field of battle in the future. Speak now of it, or forever hold your peace and your tongues."

The Vanr said, sounding as if he was saying it through a throat of bile, "I agree; so much life has been lost. I am fully agreeable to an end of this war."

"Good." Odin sat back and looked to the Vanr hostage. "Freyr of the Vanir, I release you. Go back to your people."

His manacles fell off and the Vanr, Freyr, bowed stiffly to Odin before crossing to the Vanir party.

The older Vanr turned to Loki and said gruffly, "Loki of the Æsir, I release you, go back to your people."

Loki wanted to snap that they weren't his people, but he merely held out his hands as the Vanr waved a hand over the locks and they fell to the ground with a clatter. Loki stepped smoothly away, taking Freyr's place at Týr's side and raising an eyebrow at the man. "Back again; miss me?"

"In your dreams, sunshine," Týr muttered.

"Then we're equally dissatisfied with the return of one to the other," Loki said coolly. "I certainly didn't miss you; not one tiny, infinitesimal amount."

Odin was speaking again, and so Loki and Týr's banter ceased. "Treaties will have to be signed upon a later date to bring an end to the war, are we in agreement?"

"Aye!" the hall roared.

"Aye," the Vanr said, nodding their consent.

"Very well. We shall meet upon the Fyrisvellir plains at the Autumn Solstice in three weeks." Odin hit the butt of his spear on the flagstones.

"Wait, Allfather," the Vanr said.

Odin raised an eyebrow before gesturing towards him. "Speak freely, Lord Njorðr."

"Thank you," he said, giving a stiff bow. "There is an old practice of the Vanir, that is when a deal is struck, an act of goodwill is marked with an exchange of gifts. But since this is the end of a long and bloody war, I must say the receiving of material goods to act as exchanges of goodwill is not enough."

"What would you suggest, then?" Odin said.

"To make sure no one attacks the other again, I demand the exchanging of two or three hostages each. Each must be of equal worth to the other, hostages of high ranking."

The hall exploded with noise as people shouted at Njorðr, howling and questioning his demands. Hostages? What was this?

Odin's spear against the floor silenced people at once. He took a breath before saying, "If that is what must be done to keep the peace between our two peoples, so be it. We shall meet upon Fyrisvellir at the Autumn Solstice. I bid you fair journeys back to the lands of your fathers."

* * *

#

* * *

**"YOU** CANNOT BE seriously thinking of going through with this?!" Týr demanded, striding back and forth in front of Odin. "Give into the demands of the Vanir and give them hostages? They must be mad to think that we would comply with such a thing."

"And yet we must, Týr," Odin said forcibly.

"Who would you give, then?" Týr snapped. "Him, perhaps?" He jabbed a finger at Loki who bristled.

"They wouldn't want me within spitting distance. Giving me to them would be a very poor gesture when they hate me with such a burning passion," he said, partly because he had no aching desire to be back in the hands of the Vanir, and partly because it was true. For the first time ever, he was glad for his eldjötunn blood.

"Who else, then?" Týr hissed. "Thor, perhaps? Baldr, even?"

"My sons are staying by my side," Odin said brusquely.

"Yourself?"

"No."

"How about Týr?" Loki suggested.

"You must be joking," Týr said flatly.

"You know, I thought that when you volunteered me to be given over, but I can see you were being genuinely honest," Loki said sardonically.

"Enough, the both of you," Odin said finally.

Loki fell back in his seat, pulling his hair in front of him once more and playing with the ends whilst his brother and Týr discussed the matter further. Loki didn't know enough people to be actively participating in the fight, but he saw it as a good opportunity to sit in, listen and learn more about Asgard. He'd managed to learn all the names of the high ranking Æsir as well which would avoid awkward situations in the future, he thought.

Firstly, there was Odin, who was the highest amongst the Æsir, acting as their chief of war He was the most knowledgeable and, as Loki had finally teased out from his name itself, the Wrathful One. His wife, Frigg — the woman he had correctly guessed who had been seated beside Odin earlier — held protection over the marriages and children of the Æsir; each child born and each knot of marriage tied was given her blessing.

Odin's sons were of the next level of importance. He had many sons, and not all of them were by Frigg, which he hadn't found terribly surprising. Odin's favourite was Baldr. Loki had seen Baldr around, and he had been struck by the man's beauty such that, when he had come to watch Loki and Týr spar one day, Loki had frozen for long enough for Týr to smack his wooden practice sword into Loki's nose which had resulted in many hours of cursing and blood spattered bandages being swapped for clean ones. Baldr had a twin, Loki had learnt, who wasn't as fortunate as his golden brother. Höðr was far from unattractive, but he was blind which came as a surprise to Loki, seeing as how the other Æsir had been beings of near perfection, especially Baldr.

Out of Odin's bastard sons, his most favourite, also the most raucous of the lot, was Thor who had been nicknamed _Thunderer_ by many. He had been the person Týr had been fighting with on the day Loki had been taken by the Vanir and he seemed good natured enough, but Loki was still nursing bruises from the crushing handshake Thor had given him. Thor's half-brothers included Víðarr, who after Loki had tried to get a greeting out of, was told he had taken a vow of silence. Loki had thought Víðarr to be a rather boring person to be around. The last of Odin's sons — and they were the ones Loki _knew_ about — was a man named Bragi. Bragi's talents lay in song and poetry, and indeed, Loki had heard the man play at the feast celebrating the end of the war, and he had been left stupefied by the song that had been played.

As for women, Thor had taken a wife by the name of Sif. Loki had never met Sif, but from the way Thor described her, Loki thought they would not get on; she sounded like a stiff character, for one; he did not like stiff people. Bragi had a wife by the name Iðunn who was the keeper of golden apples. Loki had gone to Iðunn after his lessons in magic with Odin and she gave him apples with which he could heal himself. The apples were the most fantastic things, shrinking the Hugrjóta on his chest to the smallest spot which refused to disappear.

"Ah, the scars of magic," she said when he pointed this out. "That's the Break; you'll have that forever."

"What, so it's like my magic virginity?" Loki chortled. "My barrier, is it?"

"I suppose," Iðunn had said, her frown speaking her disapproval at the comparison.

Loki resolved to bed her later; she was beautiful and seemed to be likable enough, even if she wasn't the most level-headed person he had met.

Apart from Týr, the final person was Heimdallr, whom Loki disliked the most. The man had been appointed Watchman of Asgard with his ability to see for, it was claimed, a hundred miles in every direction, and Thor had told Loki jokingly one night in Valhalla's hall Heimdallr had ten parents.

"You're kidding me," Loki had said flatly.

"Not technically," Thor had said, correcting himself with a chuckle. "Heimdallr's real mother is a mystery even to him. There were nine of them, and the nine of them grew pregnant — all by the same man — at the same time and gave birth on the same day, each to boys who were so similar to each other it was difficult to tell them apart. They slept together in the same room, and one morning when the mothers came in, all their children had vanished, all but one who sat in the centre of the room."

"Heimdallr."

"Yes. The women began to fight over whom the baby belonged to, as none of them could truly tell if it was their child, that and desperation that the remaining baby was their's. The fight went on for so long a time that the father declared, 'He is either all of yours or none, so make up your minds about what you want'. The women were so desperate to not lose the last one they named themselves the mothers of Heimdallr, and that is why Heimdallr has ten parents."

"That," Loki had said, "is fucking ridiculous."

"It is what it is," Thor had said with a shrug.

So, now they were faced with the difficulty about which two of the Æsir to give up, Loki could appreciate the dilemma, seeing as how each person was so important to Asgard's continued prosperity. He was still of the opinion, however, that Asgard could live without Heimdallr and Týr.

Odin sighed. "We have others to pick from, even though it tears my heart to put forth such a decision."

"What others?" Loki asked quickly.

"You are not my only brother, you know," Odin chuckled.

"You have brothers?" Loki asked dully.

"Three, actually. Vili, Vé and Hœnir are their names."

"And you are talking of Hœnir, here?" Týr said.

"He is of high standing, and is applicable to Njorðr's demands," Odin said grimly.

"The other hostage, then—"

"Yes, the other would have to be Mimir."

"Hœnir and Mimir," Týr said. He sighed heavily. "For the cost of peace, so be it."

"Who's Mimir?" Loki asked.

"One of my best generals and a very wise man," Odin said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I will have to tell the two of them in the morning of the decision, and neither of them will be happy about it. But it must be so for the cost of peace."

Loki had the feeling Odin was trying his best to swindle his way out of the deal; if they were of such high status in Asgard, Loki thought, then why had he never heard of them? Odin was giving the Vanir the two most useless people he could find, he concluded. _Sly son of a bitch._

* * *

#

* * *

**HE** WAS SICK of the stares that were cast his way whenever he did something as simple as collect his breakfast from the cook's tents, walk through the camp looking for people or even to stand outside and take a piss. He could ignore the glares well enough, having lived with them his whole life, but it was the children Loki found the most irritating, though, and he couldn't fathom why anyone had even decided to bring children to Fyrisvellir. They clamoured around him in a wave, tugging on his clothes, babbling to him in the Old and common tongues and getting under his feet in general.

"Mama said fire giants are fifty foot tall and can breathe fire," one girl insisted. "You're not fifty feet tall, are you?"

"I heard fire giants can melt your brain by just looking at you."

"I heard they eat children. Don't eat me, mister, I'd be terrible to eat."

"Can you show us some fire? Please please please?"

Loki's clothes crackled with flames as he tried to swallow his annoyance and the children jumped back, staring as he cast a murderous look at them before stalking off back to his tent. It was not that he found children irritating in general — on the contrary, he liked them far better than adults most of the time — but what he found so annoying about the brats that followed him every day was how uncaring their questions directed towards him were. His fire giant nature was a touchy subject because of the past. Children could be far crueller than adults, sometimes, and he still bore their scars from his own childhood.

All in all, he wanted this ceremonial bullshit over and done with. He wanted to lie face down on his bed and just sleep with no interruptions, no wars and no children poking and prodding him and begging him to explode with fire.

Loki strode back into his tent, striding to the cot and frowning at the girl still asleep in the thin blankets. "Hey," he growled, jabbing her in the side. She started, scrabbling upright and holding the blankets close to her naked body. "I told you to get out hours ago," he hissed.

"What?" she muttered sleepily. "When?"

"When you finished screaming my name in my ear and I told you to leave," Loki said. He shoved her clothes at her and jerked his thumb towards the tent flap. "Leave, now."

She glared at him as she got dressed and burst from the tent, seething with anger. Loki noticed with satisfaction she walked stiffly; he was glad his passion had bruised her; she deserved it. She hadn't been very good in bed, something he found irritating last night as he coaxed moans and then screams from her throat, but she had done a poor job in servicing him in return. All in all, he considered the night a waste of his particular talents in bed.

Today was the day when the hostages would be exchanged, and then, Loki was happy that the song and dance would be over and he could go back to Glaðsheimr and bloody sleep. It led him to wonder who the Vanir were giving the Æsir. Maybe they were as useless as Hœnir and Mimir were to the Æsir. Loki didn't want to deal with anymore idiots, though.

He slipped on a shirt of ringmail, polished until it gleamed in the low light of the tent. His vambraces, returned by the Vanir the day before yesterday, went on over his fine wool shirt and his sword on the belt at his waist. He gathered his hair up and tied the leather thong for it loosely in the middle. He would have to cut it soon, he noted; it was getting a little too long. Odin had insisted Loki wear shoes — "Please, just for this once." — but Loki walked out as shoeless as ever, the grass of the plain ghosting against his toes. A sea of tents stretched in every which direction in neat rows. Two tents from Loki's own private one was Odin's. One the other side of the field the Vanir were camped.

Loki strode towards the centre of the field hurriedly. He was late as it already was and he cursed when he saw Odin and th official Vanir party already waiting. Loki skidded to a stop, muttering a quickly apology to Odin; the Allfather's only response was to give Loki a quick sideways glance before he cleared his throat.

"Now were we all here," he said and Loki looked at the sky, biting his lower lip, "the negotiations will proceed as planned.

"I, Odin Allfather, leader of the tribe of the Æsir, offer to the tribe of the Vanir an everlasting relationship of peace and prosperity. I offer any apologies that may be necessary and I hope they are to be accepted by the tribe of the Vanir." He held out his forearm, taking from his belt a wicked looking dagger which he drew across the top of his forearm a few inches from the wrist. It was a shallow cut, but it bled profusely.

One of the Vanr stepped forward, now. His hair was air like many of the Vanir, plaited behind his back and his armour shone blindingly bright. A bearskin cloak fell from his shoulders. "I, Ragnar Hårfagre, leader of the tribe of the Vanir, offer to the tribe of the Æsir an everlasting relationship of peace and prosperity. I offer any apologies that may be necessary and I hope they are to be accepted by the tribe of the Æsir." Hårfagre made a matching cut on his forearm as well and he and Odin placed their cuts together. A blood oath.

A woman stepped forward from the Æsir party, coming before the two men and placing her hands over the place Odin and Hårfagre's arms touched. "Do you swear to uphold this blood oath between these two tribes?"

"We swear," they said in unison.

"Do you swear to pass this oath through the generations and that it is to be upheld at all times?"

"We swear."

"Do you swear to pledge eternal friendship between the tribes Æsir and Vanir, offer your hearths and homes to each other and to never treat the other with ill intent?"

"We swear.

"And let Vár be witness to this sworn oath."

There was a faint hum of magic in the air as the two finished their oaths. Loki shivered; there had been true power in that, and he thought of his own oath to Odin and the scar he now bore upon his left palm; he flexed his hand subconsciously at the thought.

"I have recognised this oath, and thus you are bound." The woman, Loki assumed to be Vár, smiled. "Reconcile, now. Exchange your hostages, and let your hate and prejudices die here and now."

Odin and Hårfagre took their arms away and made to clasp hands.

Hårfagre nodded at Odin. "Our hostages we bestow upon you in good faith, Odin Allfather, are three.

"The first hostage we bestow upon the Æsir is the Lord Njorðr, the Man of the Sea and with him he brings the hall Nóatún, he brings all the treasures in the hall Nóatún. He brings the wealth of his house in ten-thousand pieces of gold, thirty-five thousand pieces of silver, forty-two thousand pieces of bronze; he brings—"

Loki's mind started to drift, but he couldn't do anything about it. He started to tear the grass up with his toes in an effort to ease his boredom, and it was a good ten minutes before the Vanr finished listing Njorðr's possessions. Loki blinked rapidly when the old Vanr stepped across to the Æsir party, knelt before Odin and swore him his loyalty. Odin accepted it and bide Njorðr to join the Æsir party.

"The second hostage we bestow upon the Æsir is the Lord Freyr, son of the Lord Njorðr."

Loki gaped. It was just his luck to be saddled not just one, but two Vanir he hated, and the Vanir he hated the most at that. There was a smudge satisfaction upon the high-cheekboned face of Freyr as he stepped forward.

"The Lord Freyr, Lord of the realm Alfheimr, brings with him the realm of Alfheimr and its inhabitants, he brings with him the mighty sword—" And it started again, the listing of Freyr's possessions before he knelt before Odin and gave his loyalty. He joined his father's side, nodding at him curtly before looking away again.

"The third hostage we bestow upon the Æsir is the Lady Freyja, daughter of Njorðr."

Loki now had the hardest time not to let his jaw drop as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen stepped forward. She looked thunderous as she did so, and Loki could see her eyes were red from crying and he felt the strangest urge to comfort her and kiss her and bed her and all in the middle of the field and damn whoever was watching. He was glad for the heavy ringmail as he felt his cock twitch. Her hair was as blonde and wavy as her brother's, flowing down her back in a cascade of shimmering gold. Her face was gossamer smooth, her skin pale and her lips full and red. Her eyes were wide and lined with kohl which brought out the gold of her daemon eyes. Her nose was narrow, the tip flicking upwards pleasantly and Loki imagined running his tongue down its length. Her limbs were long and graceful, and she moved as if she glided.

"The Lady Freyja brings with her a cloak of feathers endowed with magical properties, the chariot—"

Loki told himself it wasn't his fault he stopped listening now, so drawn in he was by the Vanr woman. Perhaps he could learn to live with them, he thought; perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Again, once Freyja had been presented, she flounced forward and gave her oath to Odin stiffly before walking straight backed to her brother and father; the Æsir men followed her every movement and Loki suspected their thoughts were all the same and most certainly mirroring his.

Loki was snapped out of it when Odin presented Hœnir and Mimir, each of them swearing fealty to Hårfagre, although Loki did notice it was with a huge grudge they did so. Loki thought after that everything had been done, but as he turned to go, Odin laid a hand on his shoulder.

"No just yet," he said, eyes glinting.

"What _now_?" Loki hissed, exasperated.

A servant scuttled forward, heaving behind him a bronze vat which seemed to be full of—

"Is that full of _spit_?" he asked, disgusted.

"Saliva from every one of the Æsir and Vanir," Odin confirmed. And then, when the servant placed the vat in between the two parties, everyone leaned forward and spat into it. Loki thought it was foul, but at Odin's insistence, he too lent over and deposited a mouth full of spit into it. Loki felt sorry for the servant as he bowed and scampered away.

"What are you going to do with that?" Loki asked.

"Watch," was all Odin said.

"The mixed essence of our peoples," Hårfagre said, gesturing to the vat. "The oath will be made flesh and blood."

"What?" Loki asked, confused.

A woman from the Vanir party shuffled before the vat, cradling a baby in her arms. And then, to Loki's slight disgust, lowered a hand into the vat and took up a scoop of the spit, rubbing it up and down the baby's body. Loki felt sorry for the both of them and the baby squirmed, a soft cry coming from its throat.

"Blessed shall this child of Midgardr be with the gift of verse and poetry," Hårfagre said, "and his name shall be Kvasir."

"And thus are you named before the Highest of Powers," Odin said. "I give my blessings to this child, for he has been reborn again."

Loki felt like pointing out the baby looked like it had been born just a few days ago, but he held his tongue. The woman bowed her head, muttering thanks to the Æsir and Vanir before turning back to rejoin the Vanir party.

"Now it's done," Odin said. "And let us hope this shall indeed be a long era of peace between our peoples."

But Loki had already departed, eager to get back to Asgard and his bed.

* * *

**Well, I'm beat. 23,175 words for this "chapter", guys *screaming internally*. Just wait for the Fimbulvetr one. But that's not probably gonna be making an appearance for a few years, so sit tight.**

**I am of the humble opinion Hoenir was useless; all he did was fail at fire and stuff people in bird feathers. Pfft. Mimir I guess was important, but whatever.**

**As far as we know, Vikings did not have double-headed axes, but this is more of a work of fantasy than a straight interpretation from the Eddas and stuff; it's called artistic licence, kiddies~**

**Fyrisvellir was also a real place, but it was a marsh, not a field. It's where all the boats were parked when people went to Uppsala. Uhuh.**

**Hårfagre means "fair-hair". I am so creative I hit the guide to Scadinavia and looked up a cool name and yeah; I fail.**

**So thanks for reading, and I hope you want to come back for more!**

**—_aylithe_**

**_UP NEXT: THE FORGING OF MJØLLNIR_**


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